Fire Emblem: Lost Hearts
by KingKazul400
Summary: [Chapters 10 & 11 available] Daemons have taken over Mark's estate, using everything that belonged to the Tactician to their own personal use. His consciousness wrested from his body, Mark's soul wanders in a far and distant plane of existence...
1. Chapter 1: Wishing for You

Kingkazul400 here and I'm gonna make this short.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem. Intelligent Systems and Nintendo do. I only have the games. Nothing more, nothing less.   
  
On with the show!  
  
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Consider this as a Warning: SPOILERS ABOUND!!!!  
  
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Lost Hearts  
  
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version 1.2 (1st one had corrections)  
  
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In a dark corner of the world, in a nation known as Etruria, a young man begins his first day alone. Alone with himself, alone with his few and frayed belongings, and alone with his wits. The day was new and the sun was barely out of its bed. A few songbirds native to Etruria flew about the meadow where the young man was passing through.   
  
A beam of the sun shed its light upon the young traveler. The splash of light revealed that the young man was as tall as a pike with a messy mop of brown hair upon his head. The forest green cloak on his back proved to be more than sufficient to keep out the early morning chill. Hidden under his cloak was a pack, which had paper and odd lumps hanging about it. A brown leather jerkin was what he wore under his cloak. About his waist was a sword-belt with a blade as long as both spans of his arms, which were quite long. From the shoulder to the tips of his fingers, his arm spans from his shoulders to his pant pockets, which is about three feet.  
  
The scabbard had etchings of legends from the lords of the lands to the masters of magic. His pants were unusually good and new since the rest of his gear was rather old including his longsword. The tan on his body was unusually heavy since he has spent most of his life indoors yet he still somehow found the time to head out into the elements. Around his neck was a pendant of an axe, a lance, and a sword all with their respectable lethal points conjoined at the top.  
  
Shifting the pack on his back, the young man continued his foray into the growing light. It would be quite a while before he would ever return to his homeland of Etruria, land of the scholars. His dark hazel eyes shone with the excitement of one leaving home on a journey that his families' tradition. His quest of searching for what he destined to be has begun.  
  
While he walked down the path leaving his home, his mind wandered to something else.  
  
What would fortune and luck bring to him?  
  
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Years had passed since, Mark Sunfire of Etruria, Apprentice Tactician had left his home. Now as an Master Tactician, he had the liberty to go ahead and start his own academy or tactics.  
  
He was well off nowadays. The far off days of poverty and raggedness still lurk within the depths of his mind but yet his mind and body yearns for something. Something that he had never experienced of. Something that even a Master Tactician of Etruria cannot miss.  
  
In his new study in his newly built home, he continued to correspond with his friends. In the three years that have passed since the fall of Nergal, joyful things have happened.  
  
Lord Hector had married Lady Lyndis just after the final battle and they had a blue-haired child which they named Lilina. Mark had traveled to Ostia for a little visit once and he saw both the power and skill of both Hector and Lyndis within the child.  
  
Lord Eliwood's minor advanced toward Ninian were subtle yet in the end, Ninian of the Dragonlands had given her heart to him. Just merely days after the pair had returned to Pherae, they announced their engagement. Just a few months later, they were declared to be husband and wife by Lucius. Their child, Roy, was red-headed just like his father but his disposition and cool-headedness were definitely from Ninian. His visit to Ostia had met up with the Pheraens by luck just as he was leaving.  
  
Glancing at the painting of a Dragon from the Scouring on the wall, Mark's mind turned to the other comrades he had served alongside.  
  
Sain, the Green Knight of Caelin was just about the only one to be still single. After all his advances on an "unknown cleric", he had only gotten inches within ripping his hair out.  
  
A smirk strayed itself onto Mark's face.  
  
Poor Serra. While everyone else called her "a persistent gold-digging *****", Sain was just about the only one left to block off those insults. Of course, the womanizing knight had an on-off relationship with the Ostian Cleric so by the time they came inches of calling it, Sain just had to say that he had something to do.  
  
"You know," Mark recalled Sain saying one night while the Green Knight and the Cleric were talking at the dinner table at an inn. "Stuff that us men have to take care before marriage."  
  
The smirk widened to a smile as Mark recalled how indignant Serra was when Sain said that phrase. It was all that he, Kent, and Sir Oswin were able to hold back the furious cleric from tearing Sain's face apart.  
  
Mark's hand strayed to the painting that was mere inches away from his quill and parchment. On it was the crude drawing that Natalie and Dorcas had shown him when he first met them on his first journey serving Lady Lyndis. The great Warrior's might was somewhat hidden then but Mark tapped into Dorcas's potential and unleashed a giant that can be gentle and yet wrathful at the same time. The money that Dorcas "mysteriously" received from a "unknown benefactor" had finally healed Natalie's leg.  
  
A small faint grin danced on the Master Tactician's lips. Dorcas had sent a letter telling him how wonderful it was to "finally see his wife able to run and do things that she wasn't able to do as a child." Just the mere thought brought the now joyful Warrior's face into view. What was once a solemn and protective husband became a joyful and still protective husband to Natalie.  
  
Many of the rest had finally settled after the fall of Nergal. A thin grin danced on his lips.  
  
Priscilla and Erk had been dancing around the subject of marriage. But finally after many weeks of such flirting, Raven made the poor Sage to dive ahead into the unknown world of matrimony. Erk's face was something to see when he was "bullied" by Raven to wed his sister under one condition. Stop trying to pull a Sain.  
  
"But Sir Sain's what he is!" the poor Sage had protested. "I'm not even a single bit like him! I'm a magic-user, not some womanizing cur!"  
  
Shaking his head in silent laughter, Mark's mind turned to another pair of compatriots from their quest.  
  
Wil and Rebecca were such a predictable pair. Mark knew that Wil was from Pherae but he didn't know that Rebecca was the girl-next-door. Such things didn't happen very often in life and Mark was further surprised when he learned that the seadog "Dart" turned out to be Dan, Rebecca's own long-lost brother and Wil's long-lost best friend!  
  
Just a few days ago, he received a letter from Dan telling him of the joy of seeing his sister wedding his best friend. The letter was still on his desk, opened and waiting to be read once more. The formerly amnesiac Pirate/Beserker's handwriting had barely improved since Dart had recovered.  
  
Standing up and glancing outside of his study's window, Mark heaved a sigh against the glass. The clouds outside was overcast with small gaps of sunlight glancing through. The trees outside were devoid of their greenery as were the rest of the city. The once decrepit city had revived itself when he, Mark Sunfire, returned. Many had heard of his adventures with the Lycian nobles and of the downfall of Nergal and his feared Morphs.  
  
The twinge of winter suddenly made the already pensieve Mark stop breathing momentarily. Out there in the skies of Etruria was a winged horse flapping its wings. It flew about in a fancy way that reminded him somewhat of the Pegasi Sisters of Ilia.  
  
A knock was heard at the door as Mark began intent on the progress of the Pegasi Rider.  
  
"Come in," Mark said in a quiet tone. The door swung inward. His apprentice, Garin Firewind of Etruria, stepped in with a covered tea tray.  
  
"Your tea, Master," the green-haired youth said as he set the try down on his superior's desk. Lifting the lid, Garin laid the tea down. A large pot of tea, imported from the Sacae Plains, some delicacies from Lycia, and utensils and plates from Bern graced the desk.  
  
Mark left the progress of the Pegasi Rider and sat down in his chair. His apprentice tilted the tea pot and poured quite a substantial amount of tea into his master's unusually large cup. A small bit of steam raised itself out of the steel cup, wafting like a sinous figure. Mark's eyes may have tricked him for he thought he saw what appeared to be a woman.  
  
Like Fiora...  
  
"Master?" Garin's voice pierced through the reverie. Turning to his puzzled apprentice, Mark gave a small faint grin. He raised his cup and promptly drained the hot liquid. The bitterness of gingeroot promptly switched to the sweetness of cinnamon.  
  
"Something wrong, master?" Garin asked as he raised his eye-brows above his aquamarine eyes. Mark sighed as he traced the Bern designs on his cup.  
  
"Yes, Garin," Mark said in a quiet tone with his eyes closed. "I am not exactly myself today."  
  
"Sir?" came the puzzled answer.  
  
Silence washed over the two. Mark knew that Garin was staring at him in wonderment, perhaps thinking that his Master was thinking up some new tactics that can be used in future conflicts. Was that young green-behind-the-ears apprentice very wrong...  
  
"Nothing major, my apprentice," the Master Tactician replied as he opened his eyes. "Nothing important."  
  
Gavin raised his eye-brows again. His master was usually quiet and well but he had never in the few months he had spent with his teacher missed a beat. But when his teacher says he's well, then he's well.  
  
Mark and Gavin continued their afternoon tea in silence. Before he drained his cup of tea for the fifth time, Mark glanced outside his study's window.  
  
The Pegasi Rider wasn't there anymore...  
  
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Heh, I'm a sucker for the Pegasi Sisters. Girls on horses kicking butt, who needs more to think about?  
  
As some of you have probably figured it out, this is a Fiora/Tactician pairing. Expect to see her in... within a few chapters, shall we say?  
  
This is Kingkazul400, signing off!  
  
*click*  
  
(If ya'll want another chapter, please review!) 


	2. Chapter 2: Reminiscence

I'll say this and I'll say it again!  
  
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN FIRE EMBLEM!! Jeez I hate these things!  
  
Warning: There is a major possibility of coarse humor in this chapter. Once again, I'm not responsible for the bad images rolling through your head.  
  
You have been warned.  
  
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SPOILERS ABOUND!!!  
  
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Lost Hearts  
  
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The Pegasi Rider wasn't there anymore...  
  
Mark just sat in his study, still staring out of his window. His apprentice, Gavin Firewind, was long gone. Possibly his apprentice is in the libary researching on long forgotten tactics.  
  
The sun was setting. It will take merely moments until the crimson orb sets below the horizon.  
  
Glancing toward the fire place, Mark sighed. The hearth was cold and empty.  
  
"Fiora..."  
  
His hand strayed toward a drawer in his desk, the one that was merely a few inches away from several lit candles. Sliding the mohagony wood back, he sought and burrowed for something. Something that was more precious to him than anything he ever valued.  
  
It was something that he valued above his own life.  
  
Finally, his hand found the item he was searching for. His callous fingers, well-worn from sword practice, held a single thin piece of blue cloth.  
  
It was Fiora's old headband.  
  
Holding the faded blue headband at eye level, Mark stared at it, drinking in every fiber and thread of the Pegasi Knight's gift.  
  
"I've missed you..."  
  
His fingers clutched the precious cloth tightly. Mark tilted the decanteur of brandy into his mug. After plugging the cork back in, he picked up his mug and knocked the alcohol back.  
  
It had been almost three years. Three years since the fall of Nergal. Three years since almost everyone he knew and fought beside had been together.  
  
Beneath saggy eyes, Mark's own blue eyes were somewhat foggy from both exhaustion and lack of sleep. Running his hands through his black hair, Mark gave a faint smile to the headband. Taking a deep breathe of the clothe, his grin grew.  
  
"It still smells like her..."  
  
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Gavin was no fool when he asked his master to bid him leave after tea. Working with the Master Tacitician who contibuted to the downfall of Nergal was an honor but keeping the same Mark from collapsing into deep stupor was a challenge.  
  
He had been working by candle-light since tea in the dark and dusty library. Mark wasn't exactly the tidiest tactician around but within all these books ranging from the practical ("Tactics: Why You Should") to the... er... "interestingly diverting" as Mark once said ("The Sacaen Guide to Good Sex").  
  
Gavin was flipping through a tome he just found on the desk. It was a romance novel that Mark was reading several days earlier but the end was rather tragic. Slamming the tome shut, Gavin rubbed his head.  
  
Is this going to be tougher than just learning the "Weapon Triangle" and "Magic Trinity"?  
  
Luckily for him, Gavin had many friends in the medical field.  
  
At first, one suggested that Mark had probably insulted a woman and was condemned by Nemesis, the goddess of revenge. Gavin quickly discarded the theory. If that happened, then how come Mark isn't being hounded by some woman?  
  
Another friend, a pharmicist, thought that Mark had an "emotional imbalance." Whatever the heck that was, Gavin also quickly tossed it out the window. As far as Gavin knew, Mark was most definitely right in the mind.  
  
Others continued to suggest that Mark had a drinking problem. That was also quickly killed. The rest just continued with their musings until Gavin finally snapped and told them that perhaps his master is just being pensieve and nothing else.  
  
That quickly made the others happy and he bade them farwell.  
  
Flipping tome after tome about the human mind, Gavin's aquamarine eyes searched for his master's problem.  
  
"Chemical imbalance... Mental disturbance... Pining... The heck is all this mess?" Gavin muttered as he tossed a tome onto a pile of growing books. All of them were of no use after being scoured by his quick eyes.  
  
Picking up another book, Gavin sighed. When the heck is he ever going to find out what's wrong with Mark Sunfire, Master Tactician of Etruria?  
  
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Fiora of Ilia continued her survey of the town where Etruria's finest Master Tactician was residing. If the rumors were true, then Mark Sunfire must be here.  
  
It had been three years since she last saw the famed Master Tactician. She had given her old blue headband to him as a present.  
  
Her blue eyes rolled as Fiora mind laughed at what a folly of a gift she gave to the Master Tactician. It would've been better to give such an honorable tactician a set of maps or a sword but Mark just laughed and took it with honor and pride.  
  
A mighty wind blew her green hair around her as her pegasi swerved to compensate. Fiora leaned with her winged horse. Years of training had caused her instincts to move with the pegasi as one.  
  
Yet there was one that she longed to be one with...  
  
Her pegasi gave a snort as the cold wind continued to cut across their bodies. She and her horse were already used to Ilia's cold weather but the insane weather of Etruria was driving both of them crazy. Already their bodies were beginning to show signs of frostbite.  
  
The sun was setting quickly, reducing vision. Fiora thought she saw a man clutching something in what looked like a study. The man's brown hair looked strikingly familiar but most Etrurians have dark hair.  
  
Her pegasi gave another snort, this time with a impatient edge. Fiora knew exactly how her winged horse feels and empathizes with him. But her mission was important and she knows where Mark Sunfire might be.  
  
She murmured something into the pegasi's ear. The pegasi immediately dove toward the earth. An inn with a welcoming glow from its windows was just merely below them. Surely there must be room left for a Pegasi Knight on a mission.  
  
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Gavin's aquamarine eyes were getting heavier. Ever since he started reading tome after tome about the human mind, his mind felt like a great sponge filled with useless information.  
  
The great pot of coffee he brought along earlier was definitely getting cold and Gavin was almost completely sure that the "caffeine" in it wasn't helping at all.  
  
When the heck is he going to find out what's wrong with his master?  
  
"Curses," the green-haired youth muttered as he discarded another tome onto a growing heap. "When the heck am I ever going to use reverse psychology for practical purposes?"  
  
Picking up another tome, Gavin sighed as he tackled it. It was going to be a long night.  
  
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Mark Sunfire, Master Tactician, was in the deepest stupor he had ever been in. It had been a while since he had last drank but knocking back brandy that was at least three times his age was completely stupid.  
  
Wincing at the light glow of the candles, Mark rubbed his acheing temples.  
  
"I need something to soothe this minor hangover," he muttered to himself as he slowly got up. The faded blue headband was still in his right hand as he used his left to steady himself.  
  
He managed to toss several logs into the hearth without dropping one on his foot. Lighting the fire was simple. He found some dry tinder and promptly lit that with a nearby candle. Then he tossed the candle and the tinder on top of the pile of wood.  
  
He stared into the burning fires for a moment. For a moment, he thought he saw a familiar face in the fire. But everytime he glanced at it again, it disappeared.  
  
Mark fell back into a nearby chair, the ones that he usually reserves for guests. While his chair behind desk was rather comfortable, the guests have the privilege of slouching in chairs with padding that was more comfortable than his.  
  
It must be that fact that he had been raised to live tough and be tough. Such comfort is usually reserved for the lords and ladies of Elibe.  
  
Except maybe for Fiora...  
  
The Master Tactician continued to sit there, pensievely. The glow of the fire soothed him where he felt somewhat drowsy. Already the pangs of a minor hangover were evaporating from him.  
  
But he still thirsted for more drink.  
  
He glanced at the faded blue headband that he had wrapped around his right hand. With sudden inspiration, he unwrapped it and bound it around his head.  
  
Seizing his cloak from a nearby peg, Mark wrapped it around him. The place he had in mind was near and served rather excellent Ilian cuisine.  
  
His foot was halfway out of the door when he stopped briefly. Should he leave a note behind for his apprentice to come fetch him from the "Soaring Pegasus" before the first hour in the morning?  
  
Nah. Gavin will know why Mark Sunfire, Master Tactician of Etruria, is going to the "Soaring Pegasus."  
  
It was just merely for a drink. And possibly companionship...  
  
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"What?! You mean that I flew all the way from Ilia just for nothing?!" Fiora cried increduously at the innkeeper. The scarred old man glared at the angry Pegasi Knight.  
  
"Ah'm sorry, milady," the gruff innkeeper grunted in reply. "But all the room left in the stables are taken. Yer winged horse will not be accomadated in dis establishment." Fiora brought out her personal dagger and slammed it into the wooden counter.  
  
"Well then," Fiora calmly said in a steely tone. "If there's no room for my Pegasi, then I'll take back my money for the room." She stuck her gloved hand palm-up, waiting for her refund. The innkeeper just crossed his arms, unfazed.  
  
The scarred innkeeper shook his head. "Naw, this establishment does not do refunds. Either you take it or leave it, milady."  
  
Fiora pulled her dagger out and waved it under the grouch's nose.  
  
"If you have no room for my Pegasi and you won't refund my money, then I guess I'll-"  
  
The door swung open just then. All the heads swung around to see who was at the door. A sillohuette of a man stood there calmly.  
  
"What's going on, Stan?" the figure asked in a tone that reminded Fiora of someone. "What's all this ruckus?"  
  
Stan immediately rounded the counter and walked before the man and started his tale.  
  
"It was this woman's fault, milord!" Stan the innkeeper gushed as he continue to tell his lie. "She threatened to slit me throat if I don't give her my honestly earned money! I swear she was inches at my throat!"  
  
Fiora just stood there stunned as the man continued to nod his head at every interval that Stan stopped for a breathe.  
  
How dare this innkeeper take every advantage of her! She may be a woman from Ilia but she is a fully fledged Pegasi Knight that had witnessed and taken part in the downfall of Nergal and his Morphs! How dare he!  
  
Fiora just sheathed her dagger into her sheathe on her waist. She marched right up next to Stan and swung a punch into the innkeeper's stomach. Then she followed up with a kick.  
  
It landed right between the man's legs. Owie.  
  
"Ow!" the untrustworthy innkeeper howled in pain as he collapsed on the ground immediately. The man winced at the amount of pain and possible damage Fiora may have caused. He then instinctively stepped away from Fiora. Then he pulled out his saber and Fiora found herself looking down at the tip of the saber.  
  
"Who are you and what trouble are you trying to cause, young lady?" the man demanded as Fiora continued to watch the tip. Stan tried to speak but the man kicked him, also between the legs. Stan fell back down and began to shrivel into the fetal position. Fiora averted her blue-eyed gaze from the man to Stan and back.  
  
Why did the newcomer kick the guy? Weren't they friends?  
  
Fiora looked deep down into the man's dark hazel eyes and saw that they were remarkably like someone she once knew.  
  
"Don't mind him, milady," the man said as he slowly lowered his weapon. "He's just a little grouchy, that's all."  
  
Fiora was still wary of this man. He may look like somebody she once knew but this man might just be like one of the many others she had to "deal with" while she traveled here.  
  
"Who are you and what do you want?" Fiora demanded while the man helped Stan up and dropped him into a nearby seat. The man looked at her in the eye and gave her a roguish grin.  
  
"I'd thought you'd never ask," the man said as he helped himself to a nearby jug of wine. Instead of pouring it into a cup, he drank directly from it.  
  
The man then diverted his attention. "Hey Stan! Wasn't this from twenty years ago?" The downed innkeeper groaned as he slowly nodded his head. "Excellent year it was." The man continued to drain the jug.  
  
Fiora just stood there slack-jawed. This man, this possible lordling, just held a weapon in her face, threatened to skewer her, and now he's drinking a jug full of wine the size of his head? Inconcievable.  
  
"Ah yes, where were we?" the man grinned rakishly at Fiora. Instead of punching the man, Fiora found herself grinning back.  
  
This person most definitely reminded her of someone. But who?  
  
The man held his hand out to shake hers. "The name's Sunfire. Mark Sunfire, Master Tactician of Etruria."  
  
Fiora just stood there, staring blankly at the outstretched hand and then just fainted on the wooden floor.  
  
Mark leaned over her and shook his head. "Must've been drinking some of that strong stuff earlier."  
  
With a heavy grunt as he lifted the Pegasi Knight up, Mark started to carried her in his arms back to his estate. A inn is not a place where a maiden should be lying down.  
  
Besides, Mark was almost one hundred and twenty percent sure that the commotion he heard before stepping into the "Soaring Pegasus" was something along the lines of "all the room in the stables are taken."  
  
Mark made a mental note to swing by the stables after returning to his estate. But first things first.  
  
Stepping through the door, Mark carried his relatively light burden through the snow.  
  
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Heh, that's all folks! Read & Review! 


	3. Chapter 3: Voices in My Mind

Disclaimer: Nintendo and its subsidiaries (including Intelligent Systems) own Fire Emblem. I only own a copy of the game. And a poster. And some stickers. And the game manual. And the terrible anime film that was released.  
  
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SPOILERS ABOUND!!!!!  
  
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The following is a retort containing spoilers against a flamer on "How to Obtain Eliwood/Ninian Pairing"  
  
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Hm, I got some mail!  
  
*checks mail*  
  
Good, good, good, good, ah-hah! A flamer!  
  
To: Mewlon  
  
From: Yours Truly  
  
Subject: Why I chose Eliwood/Ninian  
  
In case ya never even finished all 6 modes of play and got every single support conversation, I'd shut my trap (or in your case, kill your PC). In fact I'll go into a deep detail on how to obtain the special CG you can get in order to get a Eliwood/Ninian pairing.  
  
Step 1: Obtain "Fire Emblem: The Blazing Sword" or "Rekka no Ken" (betcha figured that out)  
  
Step 2: Play "Eliwood's Campaign"  
  
Step 3: Play until you obtain Ninian  
  
Step 4: Keep both Eliwood and Ninian together until they reach A Class Support  
  
Step 5: Kill Nergal and the Fire Dragon (I've already marked spoilers)  
  
Step 6: Enjoy the ending and the CG with Nils leaving for the Dragonlands BY HIMSELF!!!  
  
HA HA!! SO I'M RIGHT!!  
  
*burns Mewlon's ISP address after... doing things... within legal bounds*  
  
Next letter...  
  
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To: DarkLink313  
  
Subject: Coming Chapters...  
  
Thanks for reviewing and *ahem* your "Ladies' Main: Sain Succeeds" fic is very *_interesting_*. I thank you for your review and I salute you.  
  
Mark doesn't know Fiora is Fiora because he's intoxicated. I'm not advocating this but try drinking several glasses of wine in a row and try to talk to somebody who knows you but you can't exactly place where the heck who they are.  
  
You get it?  
  
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Now where was I? Ah yes! The 3rd Chapter!  
  
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Lost Hearts  
  
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Gavin's eyelids were drooping heavily as he flipped the next page in the tome he was currently reading. The crisp manuscript was so yellow that it reminded Gavin of odd and obscure objects.  
  
It reminded him of the sun, flowers, and tea...  
  
Gavin's eyes suddenly shot open. Tea! His master! Now it made sense!  
  
His master had been staring at a faint figure that was similar to a winged horse in the sky. Mark must be wishing he was back with one of those Pegasi Sisters of Ilia he had been telling him about!  
  
Gavin quickly scrabbled for the last tome he had been reading about the human psych. His aquamarine eyes quickly darted from leaf to leaf of yellowed parchment, searching and searching for the proof that his mind was telling him the truth.  
  
His master, Mark Sunfire of Etruria, must be in love!  
  
"How could I have missed these signs!" Gavin muttered to himself as he flipped past a section telling extrenuating details about the composition of the mind.  
  
Then it hit him. Gavin dropped the tome and slouched into his chair. The mass of knowledge that flowed through his mind was loose within him like a once dammed lake flowing freely.  
  
Master Tactician Mark was not merely just a superior tactician. Mark Sunfire was of the Sunfire clan, a clan of people who are known for their ability of concealing their feelings extremely well.  
  
Why had Gavin not known about his master's emotions?  
  
"Why did he bother to conceal his emotions?" Gavin grumbled as he poured himself some more cold coffee. "I'm his apprentice and I should know what to expect from him."  
  
Glancing out the window, Gavin saw a shadowy figure that looked like a horse with wings fall out of the sky and land on the ground near the "Soaring Pegasus" inn. Gavin just picked up the tome and placed it back on the desk.  
  
Gavin knew that his master had been lying to him for the last year but he never thought that Mark would lie about his own emotions.  
  
The apprentice took another sip of the icy coffee. Staring out into the falling snow, Gavin shut his eyes. Such arduous searching had cost him only one thing.  
  
Sleep.  
  
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The pounding headache of chugging a whole jug of wine was slamming through Mark's head like a insane Warrior with a Basilisko.  
  
Mark swore as he carried his burden through the snow. For what seemed forever, he had been trying carefully to keep the stranger in a comfortable position. Of course, carrying a maiden wearing Ilian colors might cost him something apart from money.  
  
"Darn snow," Mark swore as he nearly slipped on a patch of ice. "Darn cold, darn weather, darn it all!"  
  
Moments after swearing, Mark was worried about something. Looking up the forbidding stairs that led to the bedrooms, Mark gave a heavy sigh.  
  
How the heck is he going to lug this mystery woman with green hair up those stairs?  
  
Mark laid the maiden on a nearby couch and slumped against the stairs. As he did, Mark's unfamiliar alcohol problem kicked in. His thoughts became random.  
  
Why is the sky blue? Is there a god? Why do followers of St. Elimine wear light colored robes? Why did Nergal create Morphs? Why did Ninian refuse to return to the Dragonlands?  
  
But one question kept repeating itself in Mark's mind.  
  
"Who is this girl?" the stupified Mark muttered as he ran his hand through his dark hair. "She looks familiar but who is she?"  
  
The green hair looks familiar but the length of it much longer. There's a new-looking headband but it is now red rather than green. And there's a dagger at her side instead of a sword.  
  
Who the heck is she?  
  
His eyes glanced upward at the ceiling. Why is his memory so good at remembering tactics and strategy but why is it atrociusly moronic when is comes to remembering unfamiliar faces?  
  
Mark got up from the bottom of the stairs and started to lift the still unconscious maiden into his arms. With one arm under her back and the other under her knees, Mark took the first step up the stairs.  
  
Looking back up the long staircase, one thought burned itself into his mind.  
  
It's gonna be a long way...  
  
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
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By the time Mark and his unknown guest reached the top of the staircase, Gavin gave a long and almost inaudible yawn in the downstairs library. Almost immediately, the inhaled dust caused Gavin to let loose a powerful sneeze. A column of dust rose as the brief blast of wind flipped several pages in a nearby open tome.  
  
Glancing outside the window, Gavin welcomed the darkness out there. Standing up and leaning against the glass, the apprentice saw his breathe condense against the clear material. The moon's beams were scattered here and there was it began to snow once more.  
  
Silence is so far his only ally. Apart from his master and his friends in town, silence was his only ally when he is alone. Silence and loneliness had been with him ever since he was orphaned by a band of bandits.  
  
Raising a finger, he scribbled his initials into the condensation that was created by his warm breathe against cold glass. A curved "G" then a "F" that looked like a saber was smeared onto the window.  
  
Looking out at the sleeping town, apart from the inn which was still somewhat lively, Gavin heaved a sigh. It had been almost a month since he'd last seen Mark with a smile on his face.  
  
Perhaps he, Gavin Firewind, can persuade his master to journey to Lycia for a while. After all, a journey to see the Great Lord (Hector), the Blade Lord (Lyndis), and the Knight Lord (Eliwood) of Lycia is a journey that Mark hasn't even found the time for.  
  
Well, now Mark has some time on his hands. Maybe Gavin's conviction may be strong enough to persuade Mark to take his apprentice and go visit his friends.  
  
Gavin turned and blew out the candle on the table. It went out in a small poof as it went out. The apprentice went to the door and proceeded up the stairs to his room, which was the first on the left side of the hallway.  
  
Shutting the door, Gavin was sure that he would never leave his room for quite a while.  
  
It was just so comfortable sleeping on one's back...  
  
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By the time Gavin had fallen asleep, Mark sitting in a chair next to the bed he laid the unknown maiden's prone body in. It was quite a labor bringing her up those treacherously long stairs. In the Master Tactician's right hand was a decanteur of brandy that he found in the cabinet of that room.  
  
As Mark sipped the alcoholic drink directly while watching the sleeping figure, who was still in riding gear, Mark's mind spoke to him.  
  
(Why do you have one in the guest room, Mark?) a dark male voice spoke. Mark quickly whipped around to look at the door.  
  
There was nobody.  
  
Mark then wrinkled his nose at such a notion. Why was his own mind arguing with him? Lifting the dark liquid to eye-level, Mark regarded the brandy with suspicion.  
  
Did Gavin slip something in it?  
  
Mark took another sip and quickly scattered the notion. It still tasted alright.  
  
(Indeed, Mark, why did even think about placing alcohol in a room reserved for honored guests?) the Master Tactician's own mind spoke. (Perhaps you are, how should I put it, wishing and hoping for some lucky maiden to fall into your arms?) There was a lewd and lascivicious edge.  
  
(Shut up!) Mark mentally screamed at that annoying voice in his head. (Who are you and why are you torturing me so?)  
  
That voice in his mind cackled. (Who am I?) the voice boomed within Mark's head. (I'll tell you who I am. Ever heard of a darkened side?)  
  
Mark immediately stared at the brandy very hard before putting it on the carpeted floor. The quiet thud resonated through the room while Mark's eyes roamed along the maiden's body.  
  
(Go on,) that nagging voice urged within him. (You know you want her don't you? She'll never know.)  
  
A burning feeling awakened within Mark's heart. His eyes roamed the length of the sleeping maiden. That lustful feeling was quickly rolling through his body like a tsunami against a lone boat.  
  
Mark continued to struggle against his dark side. Looking at the prone green-haired maiden's body, he felt something awaken within him.  
  
(Do not do such things, Mark,) a new feminine tone spoke. (Resist, Mark, resist and desist!) Mark felt a calming feeling wash over him. That fire of lust that had been lit within him was slowly being quenched.  
  
(You again!) that evil voice yelled at the newcomer. (I told you not to meddle with me! Go back to your temple, Elimine!)  
  
Mark's eyes widened. St. Elimine, in his mind?  
  
"You are just drinking _WAY_ too much, Mark," the Master Tactician mumbled to himself while the two voice within his mind continued to battle with words. "Just quit drinking and get rid of all those hidden sources of brandy."  
  
(Who you calling callous!) an indignant demonic voice retorted against a scathing remark that was made by Elimine. (Look at you! Your numerous followers call upon your power but do you reply to every single call?)  
  
(Take that back, Nergal Blackheart!) an equally indignant St. Elimine countered. (You created beings made of pure quintessence but did you grant them meaning to their lives?)  
  
Mark just couldn't stand it anymore. Nergal was in his mind!  
  
The Master Tactician quickly exited the room, almost forgetting the decanteur of brandy. He spun around and snagged the glass bottle by the neck and then dashed out into the grand hall.  
  
Speeding past several paintings of other Master Tacticians, Mark muttered an oath to himself.  
  
"If I'm gonna marry Fiora one day," Mark said while he continued to run down the hallway while those voices continue to battle it out in his mind. "I'd better give up alcohol and find a remedy for voices in my head."  
  
He nearly passed a statue of Master Tactician Hervis Frostbind before he spun around and entered the room next to it. Shutting the door behind him, Mark was relieved to find that the voices in his head was leaving.  
  
Mark considered his room to be rather spartan in comparison with the study but it was still well furnished. By the left wall was the bed, which was rather large. It was almost twice as long as Mark was tall but it was wide enough to accomodate several people. By the windows were the balcony but the door was shut since it was winter. Just mere feet away from the balcony was a table and four chairs. The table was all made of ashwood and the chairs were made of cherrywood. In the center of the room was a great desk that rivaled the size of Mark's other desk in the study. But this one was made of oak and had twice as many drawers.  
  
Heaving a sigh of relief, Mark removed his cloak and sword and stored them within the closet that was next to the bed.  
  
Maybe staying in his room would be the cure of insanity.  
  
"Then again," Mark remarked as he traced the designs of the decanteur. "Drinking might be alright for certain occassions."  
  
Stepping over to the desk and slumping into the chair, Mark promptly found a wine-glass and poured himself what he called "a nice serving", which went to the halfway point.  
  
Sipping quietly while looking out the window, Mark began to enjoy the silence and the beams of the moon.  
  
It was a good night indeed.  
  
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~~~~~~~~~~  
  
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Ha ha! Mark's got a drinking problem, Fiora's still out like a broken lightbulb, and Gavin's figured out what's wrong with Mark!  
  
Sairn: (@_@) What a consipracy...  
  
ACK! My stupid muse is back from the dead! ACK!  
  
Sairn: (V_V) Loser...  
  
About the thing at the top about Mewlon's ISP address, I didn't find it but I sure burned something. Guess what it was?  
  
Sairn: (^_^) Me using "Forblaze" on your hair?  
  
Come on, Sairn, my hair isn't that bad.  
  
Sairn: (_) Oh yes it is! It's a friggin' mohawk!  
  
Okay. What's wrong with that? *pulls out "Ereshkigal" and waves it at Sairn*  
  
Sairn: (^_^;) Absolutely... *sees Dark Magic Book*...... nothing.  
  
Ah well, anyways, I burned another batch of cookies. Again.  
  
Sairn: Don't be looking at me! I only wanted to burn your hair! *eats a cookie* Tastes alright to me...  
  
(T_T;) BUT THEY WERE PEANUT-BUTTER AND CHOCOLATE!! Wo shi huan da bin gan! (translates from Chinese: "My favorite cookies!")  
  
Sairn: Uh, I thought we agreed not to speak in Chinese!  
  
Whatever, REVIEW OR I KILL SAIRN!! MWAHAHAHA!!!  
  
Sairn: Eeeeeep! 


	4. Chapter 4: Rememberance

Disclaimer: Nintendo and its subsidiaries (including Intelligent Systems) own Fire Emblem. I'm too poor to afford the entire company (currently valued in the hundred millions). I have the games though.  
  
Sairn: (_) Huh? You mean to say that for the past 20 years that you have games from FE1 (for NES) all the way to FE7?!  
  
Yep! What's wrong with dat?  
  
Sairn: EVERYTHING!!! (_) YOU NEVER TOLD ME THAT?! FRIENDS SHARE SECRETS!!  
  
Uh-huh. Yeah. Right. (*cough*bullshit*cough*)  
  
Sairn: Huh? (_^?)  
  
Sairn, do you want me to cast "Ereshkigal" on your midgety rear?  
  
Sairn: Uh... *looks behind Kingkazul400's shoulder* HEY!! THERE'S FIORA!!  
  
*looks behind* WHERE?!  
  
Sairn: *runs away*  
  
On with the show...  
  
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SPOILERS ABOUND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
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Lost Hearts  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
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Reason: Clear up some "issues" from "unnamed personas"  
  
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Time: 1st Excursion Upon Dread Isle  
  
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The vast sparseness of the ocean was nothing new to Fiora. It just completely sickens her to look at it.  
  
Fiora, the Pegasi Knight Commander of the 17th Wing of Ilia, wished that the great blue ocean below her was gone. As much as she liked soaring high above the grassy plains of the Sacae or the wintry fields of Ilia, the potential water hazard below her was too much.  
  
It had been mere weeks since she had been ordered by the Mage General, Lord Pent of Etruria, to attack the Dread Isle on reports gathered from an unknown source. A handsome sum of gold had switched hands to allay most of the Pegasi Commander's fears.  
  
A sigh escaped the blue-eyed knight's shapely mouth. The pale steam coagulated together briefly before it dissipated into the wind.  
  
Almost the entire wing was decimated when they began their offensive.  
  
A tear began roll down her reddened cheeks. The salty liquid was barely halfway down to her jaw when she hastily wiped it away with the blue cloth of her shoulder.  
  
She had been the only survivor.  
  
The only one out of an entire wing.  
  
Her eyes glared down at the ocean. It had cost her a lot of things just to become a commander of her own wing but losing it after several years was unheard of back in Ilia!  
  
Closing her eyes, Fiora felt something within her awaken.  
  
(I should make them pay,) the saddened yet angered warrior knight thought to herself. (Where they have fallen, the enemy will fall. Where they have died, the enemy will die.)  
  
Raising the crystal amulet charm from her neck, Fiora chanted a small prayer. It was shaped like a scroll with arrows piercing it.  
  
"Hail St. Elimine," she began. "I call upon thee. Watch over my companions and spare no enemy. Blessed be those who fought bravely and cursed be those who denounce thee. My lance and my sword, you are my armor. All hail thee, St. Elimine."  
  
She shut her eyes and continued to mutter the names of those who had fallen merely weeks ago.  
  
"Morwen, Frieda, Margaret, Shania, Farla, Carol," she continued with her eyes still shut. "They shall pay dearly, my companions."  
  
A small burst of turbulence shook the Pegasi Knight out of her reverie. Glancing furtively about her, she quickly secured the pack behind her. Several bound leather scrolls were almost falling out. She reached quickly but another blast of wind knocked it out.  
  
"No!" Fiora yelled as the leather scrolls fell out of her pack and sailed downward toward the earth. She made as if to order her pegasi to fly downward and catch the documents.  
  
But looking down at the vast and unwelcome ocean made her wish she never had looked down. For the rest of the flight, Fiora made sure the rest of her stuff were securely tacked down.  
  
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On the ship that the Lords Eliwood and Hector and the ever lovely Lady Lyndis were upon, a heated debate was breaking out between the Pirates of Farghus and a blustering Mark.  
  
"If you had just told me beforehand," A red-faced Mark screamed at the Pirate Captain. "That the maps I had were TEN FRIGGIN' YEARS outdated, then I would've gotten new ones!!!"  
  
The scarred and grizzled Pirate Captain frowned at the spitting Tactician. Several of the crew were coasting over and one particularly well-bulked youth with a white rag bound upon his head was interested. After all, those two double-bladed axes were in his hands rather than sheathed on his shoulders.  
  
"Now listen up, yun' pup!" Farghus yelled over din caused by Mark. "Jus' 'cuz that yer maps ar' ou'dated don't mean a thang to me, laddie!"  
  
"WHAT?!" Mark cut right in. He was hopping on one foot for he just kicked the mast. "WHAT DO YA MEAN BY THAT?!" Mark was hopping forward to kick the Pirate Captain before a tired Kent held the angry Tactician back.  
  
"DART!" Farghus yelled at the youth with the axes out. The Pirate Captain glared particularly hard at his crew. "No axes out and git over here!"  
  
"Ar..." Dart muttered as he sheathed his lethal weapons. "Yessir."  
  
Wil and Rebecca saw the Pirate walking quickly to his Captain. Both Archers looked at each other.  
  
"Who's he?" Wil asked while they studied the Pirate's gait, which was rather quick and short. "He looks familiar."  
  
The Pirate heard them and looked back at Rebecca. They locked glances briefly. Rebecca stared deeply into those blue eyes.  
  
They looked so familiar...  
  
"Yes," Rebecca slowly replied, her gaze still locked upon the Pirate's features. "Very familiar."  
  
"Here sir," Dart reported to his Captain, his gaze still looking up and down the hopping mad Mark. "Whaddya need?"  
  
"Well, laddie," said Farghus as he rubbed his beard. "I need you to lee' these landlubbers through the Dread Isle."  
  
Before an astonished Dart could reply, something that resembled a brown package struck Mark on the head. Very hard on the head.  
  
"Owie," Mark muttered as he swayed left and right with the rocking of the ship. He rubbed his head briefly before he fell over.  
  
Farghus rolled his eyes at the clear sky. How the hell did a friggin' leather thingy fall out of the clear sky?  
  
"Well," said Kent as he hoisted Mark up by one shoulder. "At least our Tactician's out like a light." The Red Knight began to half drag and half carry the green-robed Mark toward the 'aft end of the ship into the sleeping quarters.  
  
"Ar..." Dart grunted as he walked right over to Kent and grabbed the other shoulder of Mark, helping the Knight move the unconscious Tactician down into the hold.  
  
Farghus picked up the tightly bound leather articles. The weathered brown skin was bound by a thick length of string. Farghus was going to open it with his dagger until the Pirate Captain shook his head.  
  
"It's a good thing that this scroll knocked that young whelp out," he muttered as he headed after Kent and Dart. "Otherwise, I would've gave that laddie a piece of me mind."  
  
Before the Captain shut the door, he glanced back up into the sky. Clouds dotted the wide blue expanse of sky while the occasional seagull called out to one another. Scratching his grizzled features, Farghus stepped in and shut the door.  
  
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Fiora's Pegasus neighed as they sighted a small but still potentially lethal party wearing Lycian colors land on the beach. That beach was on the north side of the island known as Valor.  
  
Biting her bottom lip to cope with the cold blasts of chilling air, Fiora mentally cursed herself.  
  
Why had she not secured that scroll in her belt rather than her pack?  
  
Of all things that just had to happen, it just had to be last scroll in all of Elibe that tells the exact location of the Dragon's Gate.  
  
Shaking the shoulder-length green hair of hers, Fiora sighed. That island was better known as the Dread Isle. Checking the Steel Lance that was strapped onto her mount, the Pegasi Knight leaned forward, giving the winged horse the signal to start descending.  
  
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By the time Mark had recovered, Farghus and the crew had landed on the northern shore of the Dread Isle. Rubbing his cranium while wincing at the bright light, Mark swore.  
  
"Gods, damn that infernal thing that hit me!" His language was mild compared to most of the pirates but the look that Lady Lyn gave him was enough to wither even an oak tree.  
  
"Sorry..." Lyn humphed and walked away to help with the unloading of supplies and weaponry onto the beach where Merlinus was running about in a dither.  
  
"Gently, gently!" the merchant hollered at Guy as the Myrmidion was lugging a great crate of supplies. "Lord Eliwood and Lord Hector only gave me enough gold to purchase enough food to last us several weeks! CAREFUL!"  
  
The apparently heavy and bulky crate teetered in the thin Myrmidion's arms. It swayed while Guy struggled to keep himself in balance. A large muscled arm came out of nowhere and quickly picked it up. Guy looked at his savior and was met with a withering glance.  
  
"What is that fellow's name?" Merlinus muttered as he followed the pirate down to where camp was being set up.  
  
Sighing as he walked toward the plank, Mark swore once more. This time, he earned an earful from a certain lady.  
  
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By the time Fiora reached the northern woods, a battle was raging. Her highly attuned ears heard the clash of steel against steel but this time there was something new among that.  
  
"Let's go," she told her mount. The winged horse snorted as it picked up more speed.  
  
Speeding above the canopies of trees, Fiora's eyes darted from clearing to clearing, glen to glen. Her hand was itching to pay those murderers at least ten fold of what she and her wing had suffered.  
  
A loud harsh yell was heard and the sickening THUMP of a axe embedding itself in flesh registered to her ears. Flying low, Fiora found what she was looking for.  
  
A tall blue armored man that appeared no more than at least nineteen or twenty years old was bent over the body of a fallen Foot Knight. The axeman's free bloody hand was searching through the plates of the dead Knight. Finally, the blue armored warrior's hand came up with a small vial of clear blue liquid.  
  
Gripping her Steel Lance tightly, Fiora's mind quickly thought of an action.  
  
(Should I go ahead and stick him or should I just speak to him?) she wondered as the man uncorked the vial and took a swig of it. (Maybe I should just follow him.)  
  
The man shifted his axe upon his shoulders and walked deeper into the woods, whistling a tune. Fiora made sure that he was sufficiently far away but still within her sight. Then she goaded her pegasi forward, hovering.  
  
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By the time Uhai, "The Soaring Hawk", was slain, Mark was one-hundred percent sure that there were going to be no more falling objects from the sky. But he was completely wrong.  
  
"Aiya!" a feminine voice yelled. Mark looked up and was immediately flattened by a Pegasi. He gave a high-pitched scream before his face was kissing the grass.  
  
"Ack! I'm so sorry!" the woman's voice said again. The winged horse snorted as it got up and began to graze on the grass just a few feet away.  
  
"Ow..." Mark moaned as he rolled over. His vision was a little bit woozy, almost reminding the tactician of the time when he drank some apple cider that had sat in his uncle's cellar for at least five years.  
  
A image of beauty came into his view. Strangely enough, his vision quickly corrected itself when she had come into his sight. A soft face appeared above his head.  
  
"Hi..." said Mark as his vision slowly faded away. His mind panicked.  
  
(Noooooooooooooo!!) his mind screamed as he struggled to stay conscious for once. (Not now! I was gonna like being helped for once!)  
  
Mark promptly fell unconscious again for the second time in less than 24 hours.  
  
"Ah..." Fiora was speechless. Nothing but complete honesty is going to save her now.  
  
She turned around and was running blindly to her Pegasus when she ran into a wall. She bounced off of it and fell on her rump. Looking up into a pair of confused eyes under blue hair, Fiora swore.  
  
"Damn..."  
  
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Dragging themselves back onto Farghus's ship amid a fog was enough to dampen anyone's mood. But after a crushing blow to Lord Elbert before the de facto Lord Eliwood's eyes, nothing could take him lower.  
  
Most of the company quickly muttered their condolensces when they passed the downcast Eliwood. They were usually met with a stare of shock and sorrow. After that, almost everyone generally stayed away from the brooding lord.  
  
Lord Eliwood of Pherae watched the sun as it set as he leaned against the topdeck railing. The red ambient glow was similar to a flame on a candle yet this abnormally large candle was setting rather than burning out.  
  
A breeze blew through his red hair and ruffling his robes. Looking down at the sea below him, Eliwood's mind drifted to several things.  
  
(Why, Father?) Eliwood thought as he bit his lower lip. (Why did you embark on a mission of folly? Why?)  
  
A small rustling was heard behind him but the silent young lordling kept his gaze upon the ocean. The swishing of a gossamer dress grew louder, just barely audible.  
  
(Mother and I have wondered why you left us six months ago,) thought the future Lord of Pherae. (Why did you want to incite a continental war?)  
  
"Lord Eliwood?" a hesitant and quiet voice spoke behind him.  
  
Eliwood glanced over his shoulder. His gaze briefly ran the length of of the newcomer. The almost ice-like color of her hair and dress were something his flaming spirit had never encountered before. He returned his gaze back to the seas.  
  
"Hello, Ninian." The dancer bowed her head. Perhaps just speaking to Eliwood was too... too much for her.  
  
"I'm sorry about Lord Elbert," Ninian said quietly after a brief silence.  
  
"It's alright," Eliwood replied with a hint of despair. "I've wondered for the last six months what he's been doing. This... this act of..." Eliwood struggled for the word. The crimson haired lordling couldn't think of one fitting for his father.  
  
Shing! Thunk!  
  
Eliwood's Rapier was out and he buried it into the deck rail he was leaning against. The light blade bit deeply into the spray blasted wood. Ninian jumped back and nearly screamed.  
  
"I'm... I'm... sorry..." Eliwood stammered as he collapsed on the ground. He covered his face with both hands as he began to sob.  
  
"I'm... so sorry... Father!" the broken lordling managed between sobs in a thick voice. The circlet on his head fell off as his chest heaved at each sob. It clanged and ranged as it struck the ground. It stayed on its side and it rolled up against Ninian's foot.  
  
Ninian just stood there. She had seen women break down but never in her long life had she ever seen a man crack and break. But then something struck her.  
  
"I'm... I'm sorry for you, milord..." said the pale green-haired dancer in her quiet tone. She sat next to the still sobbing lord.  
  
Eliwood and Ninian sat there side by side in silence on the deck of the ship  
  
Each contemplating their own thoughts.  
  
Each their own memories.  
  
And each their own past sorrows.  
  
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~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
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Hah! There goes Chapter 4! Now I've got some hunting to do...  
  
Sairn: I hope that's a good sign!  
  
Heh, you've got that right for once. Come, let us search out and follow Fiora to the ends of the earth!  
  
Sairn: ... I think you're better off going by yourself  
  
Why so?  
  
Sairn: 'Cuz I don't wanna be some messenger for both of you. I'm a muse, not some messenger!  
  
Shut up! *casts "Ereshkigal*  
  
Sairn: AAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!! *shrivels into a husk*  
  
Ah... much better... Review or I shall kill him again!! MWHAHAHA!!  
  
Sairn: Eh... better... do what... he says... *swoon*  
  
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	5. Chapter 5: Nightmare

Time to open the mailbox! *whistles* Ah, mail!  
  
DarkLink313: Really? My dormmate says its a pile of bullshit. Thanks though...  
  
khmerboi919: I'm only able to update on Fridays for personal reasons.  
  
Snoopy6548: What?! A WING has SEVENTY-TWO UNITS?! No, that was only several names I could think of. Sorry about that but my mind was drawing a blank about what's going to happen next to I ended up typing that up...  
  
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Disclaimer: Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems which belongs to Nintendo.  
  
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Dammit, Fanfiction.net! If you're gonna cause a great backlog on the system, let the authors know beforehand!  
  
Sairn: Uh, modern technology ain't helpful these days.  
  
Hmph. You're no help at all.  
  
Fiora: On the contrary.  
  
(O_O?) Fiora?  
  
Fiora: Yep. How's it going?  
  
Aigh! Fiora! *wham!!*  
  
Sairn: I think he's sleeping.  
  
Fiora: Oh well... here's goodnight kiss then... *kiss*  
  
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SPOILERS ABOUND!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Maybe I oughta get rid of this to get more readers...  
  
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Lost Hearts  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
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Chapter Five: Nightmare  
  
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The light of the sun was streaming through the windows of the balcony. Each beam shimmered in the clear material, sending different colored bands to dance around the room. Several danced across the sleeping form of Mark.  
  
The Master Tactician of Etruria was asleep, his inert form sitting in his chair. His head was upon the desk before him but his hands were still around the empty decateur of brandy and the wine glass he used instead of a shot glass.  
  
His dreams rotated from the real to the false, from the surreal to the actual, from the darkness to the light. Tonight, he had many dreams but the one he was threashing about in was the worst he had ever experienced.  
  
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Mark was in his old green robes from his first foray into the unknown world. Standing upon actual grass, he was standing before a series of stone monoliths that were familiar. His hands strayed to his waist, gripping for his weapon. The familiar feel of the smooth steel saber upon his clammy palms were welcome to the tactician. AFter making sure that nothing is out to get him, Mark stepped forward to examine the liths.  
  
These great stone pieces were at least four times the tall tactician and they were twice as wide as the space required when Lord Hector of Ostia began swinging his axe. Satisfied that these stone structures wouldn't hurt him, Mark turned around and began walking toward the light that was some distance away.  
  
Before he knew it, a great hole suddenly appeared below him. Panicking, Mark's hands grasped for the edges but he fell into the great gaping maw below him. A yell of desperation and despair lurched out of his quavering throat. Falling and falling, Mark wished for the endless amount of space to end.  
  
He twisted and turned as he flailed about, struggling against the unknown. Right when he thought the endless space was going to be endless, he landed with a heavy thump upon the cold stone floor. As he struggled to get up, Mark swore that he heard laughter.  
  
Laughter that sounded very familiar. Yet it was cold and malicious.  
  
As the tactician managed to stand upright, a shadow flitted before him. Drawing his saber, Mark slashed at it. Striking air, Mark returned his saber before his eyes. The basic guard position he had learned many years ago had helped him out of many tight spots and now he wished it would work this time.  
  
Another burst of laughter, still cold and somewhat insane came from behind him.  
  
Whirling around, Mark quickly stuck one hand at the pommel guard and the other still on the saber. His cloak whirled around and he stabbed behind him. His head was covered by the fabric as his saber ran through his unseen foe. Knocking aside the cloak, Mark twisted his saber to the right, further enlarging the wound. He then turned around and ripped his weapon out.  
  
Giving a gasp of horror and surprise, shock overcame him. His aim was swift and true but his bloodied blade had bitten into someone who he was not expecting. The person before him had collapsed into kneeling position with a great gaping wound spurting blood from the person's chest. The head was covered in a dark fabric. Taking off the dark cloth, Mark's saber clattered onto the stone floor.  
  
The familiar blue hair, the lovely green eyes, and the soft face of Fiora was before him. Mark quickly cradled Fiora's head on his chest. The Pegasi Knight gave a weak smile as they looked into each others eyes. A small rivulet of blood exited from her mouth as Mark tried to find a way to halt the flow. Finding nothing, Mark's head fell forward as he began sobbing.  
  
The blood of the Ilian Knight stained her thin blue armor. Crimson drop by crimson drop, each piece of the Pegasi Knight's life was being slowly taken away from her. The cold stone floor absorbed the unfamiliar warm liquid, drinking it like a thirsty hound.  
  
"Mark..." Fiora weakly said as the tactician continued to heave and sob. "It's... good... to see... you..." The brightness in her eyes was still strong.  
  
(Perhaps help may come,) Mark hoped as he sobbed heavily. This optimistic notion managed to calm him somewhat but his outpour of emotion continued to flow like Fiora's open wound.  
  
"Fiora..." Mark managed between sobs. "I'm... I'm sorry..."  
  
He kissed Fiora's forehead. The Pegasi Knight managed to reach up and bring her arms around the tactician's neck. Planting a soft kiss on Mark's left cheek, Fiora's grip was slowly weakening.  
  
"I've missed you so much, Fiora," said Mark in a regret. "I never thought you'd be here." Fiora motioned for Mark to tilt his ear lower.  
  
"I've... missed you... too..." Fiora's pained voice spoke.  
  
"You shouldn't have come," Mark stammered as he tried to make Fiora more comfortable. Tearing off his cloak, Mark bundled it up and placed it underneathe Fiora's head as he continued to hold her in his arms.  
  
Fiora smiled weakly but her eyes enlarged as a shadow loomed over the pair.  
  
Sensing the source of the malice behind him, Mark quickly lowered Fiora as gently as he could onto the cold floor. He quickly rolled aside in an attempt to draw whatever foe he has away from the fallen Pegasi Knight. An great steel axe slammed into the floor, shattering the blocks of stone. As Mark rolled aside, his hands grabbed the saber, still covered in Fiora's blood.  
  
His foe stood before him. Covered and draped in utter darkness, the creature laughed. Raising his weapon, Mark dashed forward and began to strike at his foe. The beast dodged and blocked every single one of his attacks. Then, Mark's saber was knocked aside. It flew away from his hands, flying and striking one of the walls. It struck the stone and was somehow absorbed by the wall. All that was left was a great indent shaped like his saber.  
  
Looking back at his foe, Mark's once-dormant anger began to awaken. Both of his hands were clenched as they hung by his side. A bit of white and pale energy began to draw themselves toward his fists, slowly in small amounts.  
  
" 'I've never thought you'd be here!' " a high-pitched mocking tone came from the beast's supposed head. "That's so rich, boy!"  
  
The head's shape changed and its free left hand ripped off the covering. Giving a shout of surprise, Mark quickly dodged a flurry of axe strikes. After dodging several close shaves, Mark realized that the energy collecting in his fists was the energy wielded by bishops.  
  
This is his chance! Mark made sure that there was more than enough space between them. He hoped that his Bishop ancestry would help tame this wild creature. The beast ran toward him, the axe making a whirling blur as it spun. A fist raised before him slowly released the stored energy. A series of pure white bolts leapt forth from his palms striking the fell beast.  
  
But it dodged all of his strikes! IMPOSSIBLE!!  
  
This creature, this beast cannot be who it is mimicking! It had the skills of Hector, the speed of a Wyvern and it had the head of Nergal! A axe blow grazed his shoulder, barely nicking his skin as a bit of green cloth fell off. A small stream of blood spurted from the incredibly small wound. Mark nearly screamed in pain as his quick mind registered exactly what the weapon was.  
  
The great steel axe that was being wielded by his foe was no ordinary axe. It was one of the few rare artifacts that were imbued with ancient magic.  
  
It had to be Obieron, the Fell Hammer of Darkness.  
  
"It... can't... be..." Mark heard Fiora weakly say as Mark's body began to convulse in pain. The fire of slow death and torture coursed through his body. Howling in pain, Mark felt like death would be better right now.  
  
He was not the only one screaming. Somehow, Fiora managed to get up and grapple with the unknown foe. Both the human and the in-human struggled for the control of the axe. The beast managed to throw the lighter Fiora off. Raising its axe, the beast gave a howl of victory while Fiora laid there. Her eyes were dimming as the axe whistled downward. Mark wasn't able to see Fiora's body but the sound of the cursed axe striking her body was more than enough.  
  
Mark's physical pain and agony couldn't be compared to his emotional and psychological destruction. His mind and body suddenly ceased to function.  
  
As his vision slowly faded away, Mark's mind was made up. There was no escape earlier but now there is one.  
  
Through death...  
  
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Mark moved his head slightly. One eye fluttered open, just barely enough for a yellow band of light to streak across it. He flinched in reaction to the overloading of his dulled senses.  
  
Sitting up barely, he winced at the strong glare of the sunlight. That same and still unfamiliar beating in his head was enough to drive a person like Kent insane. Holding his head in his hands, Mark began to wish that he never picked up a glass of wine when he was young.  
  
Leaning back in his chair, the member of the Sunfire clan yawned. The breathe of cold air in his room was enough to awaken his barely awake mind. Absorbing the welcoming sense of wakefulness, Mark's thoughts began to swirl back into order.  
  
(What a horrendous nightmare,) he thought as he put the containers for drinks away in the bottom-most drawer in his desk. (I must give up alcohol.)  
  
The hazel eyed one looked out the window and saw a bird, just a mere fledgling, soar in a semi-confident manner. Watching its progress, the winged creature flew and stopped constantly at every possible roost.  
  
Turning back from the bird's progress back to his life, Mark sighed.  
  
Did what he dreamt earlier really happen?  
  
Looking at the miniature statue of a Pegasus Knight on his desk, Mark shook his head.  
  
(Most unlikely,) the Master Tactician thought as he got up and stretched. (Must be the alcohol on my brain.)  
  
Looking outside the window once again, Mark's thoughts drifted to and fro like the wind toying with a leaf. A small twinge of pain, the kind that burns the soul yet it leaves no visible damage, was felt near the center of his chest. Observing the cold and pure landscape outside, the quiet Master Tactician found himself thinking of something he had been thinking for quite a long time.  
  
Why, why, why had he been a fool so long ago? Why had he left her? Why had he left the eldest of the Pegasi Sisters nearly a year ago?  
  
Mark's hands strayed toward one of the many drawers on his great oaken desk. Reaching for the lowermost one, he grasped the ornate brass handle and gently slid it open. Pulling out a book bound with leather, he laid it on the desk unopened.  
  
Looking at the cover of the weather leather book, Mark gave a faint grin. There was still no title on the leather cover nor was there a title on the first page.  
  
"So long and yet still fresh," he quietly said to himself as he flipped it open.  
  
The first few pages were empty apart from his name. Flipping several sheets of parchment, Mark finally found it.  
  
"Denaro Twenty-Second, Year 1342," he read. "I have finally left my home. For the last week I have traveled about seeking mercenary bands needing a tactician that is somewhat skilled with a sword..."  
  
Here, he flipped the page.  
  
"Sadly, they rejected me due to the fact I easily fatigue. There is only one place where I can build up my strength. I must head to the Sacae and learn much from the people there. Perhaps I may learn more than just skill and technique from the Sacaens..."  
  
Drifting off, Mark glanced out of the window.  
  
It had been so long ago. It had been just several years ago when he found himself serving three noble Lycian Lords. But he also found himself serving alongside one who he truly felt he belonged with.  
  
Fiora, the Pegasi Knight of Ilia.  
  
Flipping at least a score of pages, he found a new entry.  
  
"Tierra Fourteen, Year 1343," he read. "We have landed upon the island known as Valor or the Dread Isle. My maps of the island are at least ten years outdated and I must admit that the flora upon the island are not exactly at the right places..."  
  
Another yellowing sheet of parchment flipped.  
  
"Two new members have joined out merry band of righteous warriors. The first, whose name is Dart, is a Pirate who was with Farghus. He will be an excellent Beserker once I find an Ocean Seal for him. The second, who captivated me with a mere smile, was Fiora the Pegasus Knight. By golly! If only I could find something that we have in common..."  
  
Looking up from the yellowing parchment, Mark grinned as his gaze became fixed upon the Pegasi figurines on his desk. He had spent days and weeks, not to mention some lessons of love from a unnamed "Green Knight of Caelin", just to understand the basics of what a woman wants.  
  
"Was I ever wrong," Mark softly spoke as he leaned back in his chair. Looking at the sky blue ceiling, Mark's thoughts drifted off as the wind blew gently across the early morning sky.  
  
Glancing out the window for a moment, a thought went into his mind.  
  
"Indeed," he said, "Beauty is indeed in everything..."  
  
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Heh, there goes Chapter 5!  
  
Sairn: Oh, you're awake. (_)  
  
Yeah? What's wrong with sleeping? (_)  
  
Sairn: Look at your cheek. (^_^)  
  
Hm? *finds a mirror* OH-MY-GOD! WHO DID THIS?! WAS IT YOU?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!  
  
Sairn: (O_O!) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!  
  
*Both run around the room with Kingkazul400 beating the crap out of his 5' 2" muse*  
  
Fiora: What's going on? (O_O?)  
  
Agh! Fiora! *wham*  
  
Sairn: (O_O;) Phew! He's sleeping again?  
  
Fiora: Ah well, here's another goodnight kiss! *kiss but more like a one-sided makeout session* He tastes good! (^_^ 3) [3 is supposed to be a HEART]  
  
Sairn: (_) What about me?  
  
Fiora: Sorry, but you're not my type! Bye-bye!  
  
Sairn: Aw... (T_T) ... Please REVIEW!!! 


	6. Chapter 6: Dark Slumber

Here I am, sitting in front of my 28" TV, playing Final Fantasy XI as a Red Mage/Warrior, burning everything with my power!! Hee hee!! I feel like Kefka now!!  
  
Sairn: (O_O;) I think you've finally cracked...  
  
Oh yeah? *takes a deep breathe* "Camptown ladies sing that song, do dah, do dah..."  
  
Sairn: (_!) AHHHHHH!!! MY EARS!! THE PAIN!! THE AGONY!! AGH!!! *falls over*  
  
Fiora: *walks in with a CD player and headphones* I disagree. You sound so sexy, Kingkazul.  
  
(^_^;) Did my ears just hear that?  
  
Sairn: *gets back up but gets knocked over by a mailbag* Ow... (T_T)  
  
*drops PS2 controller* MAIL CALL!!!!  
  
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Millenium Slinky: Whassup! I haven't heard from ya in a while! Yep, Fiora's my new obsession as is Legault is _STILL_ your obsession.  
  
Snoopy6458: ... I don't even have a clue how the military works. Even though I know the chain of command, I am clueless when it comes to division and order. Maybe I should join the ROTC. Nah, but still the demon creature is something you will find out. REAL SOON!!  
  
DarkLink313: Dude, your new FF fic is sweet and I barely have the time to sign on and review so I just put you on here for recognition. By the way, do you still have your original manuscript of your reposted "Ladies' Man: Sain Succeeds"? You better put it up on an site that I wouldn't dare mention as there's spyware on my PC.  
  
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Legal Disclaimer: Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems which belongs to Nintendo which belongs to... some corporate people in Japan.  
  
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Lost Hearts  
  
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Chapter 6: Dark Slumber  
  
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SPOILERS ABOUND!!!!!!!  
  
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(If you can read that, then you don't need glasses.)  
  
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WARNING: THIS HAS "MATURE" THEMES  
  
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If Fiora had been told that within a day that she would be knocked out unconscious just by looking at a man, she would've shoved her Rex Hasta right up that bastard's ass.  
  
The bed she now lies upon received the welcoming light of the sun. The rays streamed across her inert body yet Fiora still remained unconscious. Why had she just knocked herself out, nobody knows.  
  
Still lying in her vast and quick mind in the world of unconsciousness, Fiora drifted this way and then that way like a leaf in the wind. Looking below herself, Fiora saw infinite blackness yet she wasn't falling. Looking above herself, there was infinite whiteness yet she wasn't flying.  
  
(Where am I?) she thought to herself. (This is too strange.)  
  
A saber suddenly appeared before her. It was almost a meter long, the tip sharper than a Rapier. The pommel and guard for the hand were made of bronze but the grip was of steel as was the rest of the blade. The great blade was almost alike to the color of the sky yet it was more of the ocean rather than the great vast ceiling of the earth.  
  
It slowly floated closer to her, offering itself grip and guard first to Fiora. Fiora slowly reached out to it, unsure of what it may do to her. When her slim fingers touched it, nothing happened. Satisfied that nothing evil may happen to her through this saber, she wrapped both hands around it.  
  
But she was incredibly wrong.  
  
A great rending force struck her and the saber flew off in the direction of which it came. Fiora tried to release her grip on the saber but it wouldn't come off! Her hand, which was once obedient to her mind only, refused to comply with her mental commands. The great darkness zoomed by her and strange colored lights flew about her.  
  
(This is not happening!) her mind screeched to the darkness about her.  
  
The saber hurtled through the darkness, tearing it apart like the great sword Durandel rending through dragonflesh. At each slash, the dark material bled large quantities of crimson liquid. The saber finally halted to a stop and Fiora found herself falling through the edge of infinity.  
  
She tumbled and screamed, confused and scared by what just merely happened seconds ago. Great globs of the crimson goo then coalesced together and two strange beings appeared before hher. The tradition depiction of Fear and Horror appeared about her dancing a strange dance. But no later than she opened her mouth to scream, both demons grasped her by her arms and hurtled away in the opposite direction they were traveling.  
  
Fiora struggled as fiercely as she could but her arms were gripped too tightly by cold demonflesh. The red one, Fear, looked at her several times and leered at her. It stared at Fiora with such an intensity that Fiora forced herself to look below her.  
  
But looking down at the infinity of darkness below her was too much. With no choice left, she tried to shut her eyes and to tune out the cackles and strange utterances both demons of darkness were making. But her body wouldn't comply with her demands. Instead, her eyes remained open and her ears focused more intently on the strange guttural language.  
  
"Master will like her, Fear," the blue demon to her left suddenly said. Looking at Horror, Fiora's eyes widened. Her thoughts quickly spun, trying to conjure whom these creatures of darkness may be serving.  
  
"Indeed, Master will like her, Horror," the red demon, Fear, to her right smirked.  
  
"How long do you think she'll last?" Horror asked his companion as they continued to soar through the darkness.  
  
"I wager half an hour," Fear replied with a grin of malic. "I'd put on a third of my slaves as my wager."  
  
"You're on, brother," Horror grinned back at Fear. Then looking at Fiora, his grin widened to include all of his sharp fangs.  
  
"Your survival will be something I look forward to, Pegasi Knight," Horror said to Fiora.  
  
(Let me go!) Fiora tried to scream through lips that wouldn't move. She tried to kick the red one but her legs just fluttered a little like a fish flopping out of water. She then tried to strike at the blue demon but she missed.  
  
The demon brothers were amused by Fiora's pitiful attempt to attack them and shook Fiora like a mouse being thrashed by a terrier. Both of Fiora's arms were hurting like mad when both demons finally stopped. After such a while of this torture, Fiora collapsed into a state between being awake and asleep.  
  
After what seemed an eternity of soaring through the darkness, the demon brothers halted before a strange patch of oozing matter. It went this way and then suddenly the other, with strange tendrils the color of shadows sprouting up and then suddenly fading away into a strange black mist. Both brothers lifted Fiora up and then tossed her onto the matter. She landed on the congealing mass on her back and finally her voice recovered.  
  
"Watch what you assholes are doing!" Fiora yelled as she struggled to get up. She managed to get up to kneeling position to hurl more insults at her captors. Both demons were smiling from pointy ear to pointy ear. The blue one then stepped forward and summoned a mass of land beneathe them. They then floated down gently and alighted upon the barren stretch of earth that was conjured by Horror.  
  
"Do you know where you are, Pegasi Knight?" Fear asked as he walked around Fiora.  
  
"Does it look like I know where this is, you vile creature!" Fiora managed to yell as she suddenly slipped and fell on her back. "I want out of here!"  
  
"Oh," said Horror. "But this is just the beginning of your nightmare." Fear gave a low cackle and summoned a whip of fire into his hands. The great flaming brand crackled with such ferocious intensity that Fiora could feel the burn from such a distance.  
  
The blue demon then waved his arms again and the tendrils Fiora laid upon suddenly whipped up and seized the Pegasi Knight. Fiora gave a scream that pierced the darkness. The long dark tendrils grabbed Fiora and slammed her back down on her back. Fiora could feel the pulsating heat from the dark matter she was upon and she gave another scream. Horror and Fear then summoned a gateway that was at least twice as tall as Horror and Fear yet the width was twice as long as Fiora's Rex Hasta. A shadowy creature began to advance from within the gateway, slowly in a lumbering pace.  
  
"What are you going to do to me?" Fiora managed to gasp as the tendrils of dark matter slowly began to wrap tighter about her. A piece of her armor suddenly broke and it was suddenly consumed by the matter of darkness.  
  
More and more of Fiora's armor was snapping off and was quickly absorbed by the strange matter of darkness. As each piece was absorbed, a strange crimson color oozed from the matter she was laying upon and stained her flesh. The crimson ooze did not only stain her flesh. Fiora felt dizzy and swore that the red liquid was slipping into her. As more and more of the strange plasma forced its way within her, the Pegasi Knight's inhibitions slowly loosened.  
  
As each second passed, Fiora's mind was continually plagued by thoughts, strangely erotic thoughts, that she had never had the time to think about. She saw images flash in her mind of men and women in coitus, acting out the one god-given acts. She then saw a familiar tactician without any clothing on. Fiora blushed as her mind became more and more pornographic. She tried to shut off her mind to these hedonistic thoughts but her mind was completely engrossed in these acts of hedonism. A image of her on top of Mark flashed before her and Fiora felt a strange warm feeling in her nether regions.  
  
Finally, Fiora was completely naked. Nothing of Fiora's garments had survived after the strange darkmatter had consumed it all. Looking at the demon brothers in a drunken manner, Fiora licked her lips. The normally taciturn Ilian Pegasi Knight felt a strange burning feeling along her body and she swore her lower parts were itching for something. She wanted something really badly...  
  
"Hello, handsomes," she slurred as she looked at the demon brothers. "Care to..." She sought for the word. "Have a little fun?"  
  
Horror and Fear grinned at each other and tossed aside their weapons of torture. Fiora closed her eyes as her mind knew what the inevitable was going to happen.  
  
"And now, the fun begins..." she heard the low hissing tone of the demon brothers.  
  
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Mark suddenly lurched up in his chair. He quickly dropped the quill he was holding and immediately grabbed his saber. Tying the light blade on, Mark's sharp ears heard another scream. His fingers fumbled with the knots.  
  
"Damn knots," Mark cursed as he managed to tie a half-hitch onto his belt. "If only I listened to Dart's lessons on tying knots properly..."  
  
Another scream punctuated through Mark's mind and the Master Tactician finally gave up on the knots and drew the saber. Running to the door, he ripped off the scabbard with inhuman strength and tossed it onto his table.  
  
Running through the great empty halls, the screams led to the bedroom at the end of the corridor. Halting before the door, Mark realized that he was just here last night.  
  
(Can it be?) Mark thought as he absent-mindedly scratched his jawline with his left hand. (It can't have happened...) Another scream, this time louder, pierced through the door and Mark had no choice but to open the door and rush in.  
  
Bursting through the door, Mark suddenly halted as he saw a being rolling and thrashing on the bed, wrapped in the covers. Mark laid his saber onto a nearby table and went to the foot of the bed and slowly pulled off the top cover. The red silk fabric slid off and a white linen blanket was beneathe it. But there was still no sign of the mystery person beneathe it all.  
  
(Wait a minute!) Mark thought, his hands poised to rip away the second layer. (I'm pretty sure I was here before. But when?) He racked his brains for the answer but another scream emanated from the mass, quickly making Mark's decision.  
  
"Here goes..."  
  
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Sweat rolled off of Fiora's naked body in great masses. Those great dark bindings of the strange plant-like creature had all disappeared. Both demon brothers had disappeared but yet she still laid upon that strange mass of jiggling matter.  
  
Looking around in confusion, Fiora finally realized why she was cold. Her clothes were gone. All she had left was the green headband on her forehead and it was completely soaked in her own sweat. Taking it off, Fiora saw that sweat was not only mingled with the cloth. A strange whitish substance had somehow attached itself upon it. Fiora took a whiff of that substance and was confused by its odor. It wasn't exactly a paste or glue of some sort but it definitely wasn't something from a wound. What could it be?  
  
"Oh my," said Fiora in a quiet manner. The jello-like mass below her moved a little and turned from the shade of shadows into a strange sunset red color. She then heard a man's voice but it sounded as if it were a far distance away.  
  
"Fiora!" she heard the man's voice call to her. "Fiora! Where are you!" The Ilian Knight turned around and saw a shadow of a man running toward her. Fiora had no idea what to do. She can't cover herself up with abslutely nothing and she's somewhat embarassed by the fact that she's naked.  
  
"Fiora!" the man yelled again, this time a bit louder. The man's outline came into view and Fiora saw that he had a cloak fanning out behind him. She heard the hard taps of travel boots striking the dead earth. There was only one person who had worn those kind of boots.  
  
Fiora stood up on the jiggling dark mass, still a little embarassed of her nudity. "Is that you Mark?" she called.  
  
The man came closer and waved his right arm at her. "Fiora? Is that you?" Mark said.  
  
The shadows then bounded away and Fiora could see the Master Tactician's face. In the three years that had passed, Fiora saw several worry lines on the Etrurian's forehead. What could he have been worrying about?  
  
Mark abruptly stopped and averted his eyes to the ground. "Er, Fiora?" Mark mumbled as he kept his eyes looking at the ground. "Er..."  
  
"Er..."  
  
"Take my cloak. At least you'll be warm." Mark's great green cloak flew through the air and Fiora caught it. She quickly donned the fabric. She whirled it around her neck and made sure that the open front was sealed.  
  
"You can look now."  
  
But when Mark looked at her once more, a strange light came into his normally brown eyes. As he opened his mouth, two fangs sprouted in his teeth. He leered at Fiora and stepped forward in a deliberately menacing fashion.  
  
"So..." he said in a guttural voice. "The sacrifice to the Master of Fear and Horror... This is interesting..." Mark snapped his fingers and the strange jelly-like mass sprouted long vines which wrapped tightly about Fiora.  
  
Fiora gave a scream and found herself on her back once more. And yet once more, a strange red liquid was oozing from the matter of darkness she was lying upon. It forced its way into her body and Fiora's mind became similar to a drunk. Fiora tried to scream out once more but she found herself gagged by a dark vine.  
  
An image of arousement spun through her mind. Fiora saw once more men and women committing one of the many god-given acts. She saw men on top, women on top, men behind the women, and many, many more pornographic images within her mind. A strange warm feeling burned within her and her breathe slowly became ragged. The air about her seemed warm and in need of cooling. As her mind experienced the ecstacy of sexual feelings, Fiora heard the guttural tone of Mark, this time with a bit of raggedness.  
  
"You do not know how this mortal male wishes to be with you, Ilian Knight. This man has thought about you ever since the first Dread Isle incident." Fiora then heard the sharp steps walk from her left side to her right side.  
  
"This male mortal, this beloved one of yours, has pined for you for the last three years. Do you not know of the pain and misery you have caused him? This man has been sought by many other women. Do you know who had lusted him instead of you?"  
  
"Plenty other women in the company have sought him to share their beds. Lady Lyndis attempted to lure him but his honor stayed him in his own area. You youngest sister, Florina, also tried to lure him with similar favors but his mind considered this as dealing with an underage minor. In his book of morals, he considered this as an evil act. Your other sister, Farina, attempted to take him by force but your lover resisted had no choice but to pay her gold to stay away from him." The boots were sounded off as the strangely possessed Mark continued to circle around Fiora.  
  
Fiora was indignant at this person who's claiming to be Mark. Why hadn't Mark told her of his feelings? Why had her sisters for that matter not tell her that Mark also had feelings for her? This is not right, it is her right to now about another man who likes her. She knew that Mark was usually a quiet fellow around women. She thought that the silence that she usually received from Mark meant that he didn't exactly like her for landing her Pegasi on him back on Dread Isle.  
  
"They were not the only ones to try to share beds. Rebecca tried to lure him in under the pretense that one of her bows had broken. Instead, Mark found himself being hugged tightly by a lustful green-haired maiden who was half naked. Mark had no choice but to play along with a lustful Rebecca. By the time Rebecca decided to bring out the leather whips, Mark decided to take the dominant role and tied Rebecca up. Then he made his escape for your sake. But she was not the only one."  
  
"Serra had tried a more direct approach but Mark tried to ward her off by stating that Clerics in the service of St. Elimine should stay chaste until they quit their service. Of course, the pink-haired Ostian Cleric decided to get around that by luring Mark in on the pretense that she need help with something in her tent that night. Mark being naive, had fallen into her trap. But the sly Cleric had wine and several books out. You know how Mark is. Once he reading, he'll get thirsty. And when he gets thirsty, there's no other drink of choice for the but wine. And so, Mark gets drunk but Serra also gets drunk. I can tell you that Mark suffered several injuries from getting physical with a lustful and hyper Serra. But by the time Serra wanted to commit the single act that would take away something of hers, Mark fell down in a stupor."  
  
"There was also a certain female Paladin in the retinue who was completely enamored with him. Do you know who it was? It was her, Isadora of Pherae, the only Paladin who was a woman. Do you even want to know how she managed to lure him in? I'll tell you. She had asked Mark to come into her tent one night to see if she should discard a certain shield of hers. When your lover stepped in, expecting Isadora to grab him and thrust him onto the cot and proceed to do strange acts to him, he was surprised that Isadora kept back and was still polishing her armor by candlelight. When he called her name, he saw a strange light in Isadora's eyes when she looked up. By then, your Mark was somewhat bewitched by those blue eyes. But those charms of a woman that Isadora had possessed were not enough to force Mark to willingly join her on her cot."  
  
Fiora looked at the possessed body of Mark. So that was why Mark was silent around her. He had loved her but was afraid that he might be attacked by her in the middle of the night. But there has to be another reason why. A man cannot be a man if he is scared of women. There has to be another reason.  
  
"Mark was not afraid of women for their ferocity and veracity in both combat and the tent. He was afraid of hurting their feelings. He was also afraid of rousing the tempers of the men in the company also. You know why Lord Eliwood chose Ninian. Because they had a connection. But Mark couldn't choose anyone. Why? Because he had no connection to any one of them other ladies. He wanted dearly to speak to you in private but did he get a chance to spit it out? He did not. Whenever he tried to say those three little words, he ended up saying something about your skill and your superb abilities as a Pegasi Knight."  
  
"Do you even know why he chose you over the other more beautiful maidens from the company?" Fiora shook her head as more tears of understanding rolled down her cheeks. "Your lover chose you for reasons that I cannot put in words. He has paid the price for your indifferent attitude towards him. He already lost a great chunk of his spirit and his heart. I already own a piece of it. But there is one way that you can save his soul from my realm. I am not the great demon of the deep shadows as they paint me to be. I can be forgiving but yet I can be harsh. You must give up something of great value of yourself. But since you cannot willingly give it and I desire to grant this man back his sense of self and purpose, I will forceably take it."  
  
Fiora was afraid now. The body of Mark was pulsating as if a beast within was growing quickly. Those eyes were swiftly changing colors and so was his hair color. But what she feared was that his clothing were slowly ripping apart. Tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks as she realized what was going to happen to her.  
  
She was going to be violated. By her own lover...  
  
"I hope you have no objection..."  
  
`  
  
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~~~~~~~~~  
  
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Author's Notes:  
  
Yes indeed. It has been a while since I've last updated. Writer's block is a pain. I know this is a bit out of the ordinary for me but keep on having these images of people hurting other people physically and emotionally. But I decided to make this mentally painful towards Fiora as she has never realized that Mark had loved her but she never loved him back. Sure she had emotional feelings for him but did she ever show it? No, she was a tough little soldier in the game. Why am I being so negative towards her? I don't know as my mind is taken over by my heart. This may be the only update in a while as I have preparations for upcoming competitions and exams.  
  
If you've noticed, I've put that Mark is a man of suffering and pain. He's suffered much since he first met Lady Lyn on the plains of the Sacae. But do realize that just because Mark never took to the field of combat doesn't mean that he's a emotionally dry well. Think of him as a human being with emotions. The other characters have their own respected feelings but it is to my disbelief that Mark never was given any feelings. It was all implied through the actions of other characters.  
  
This is getting late for me. My eyes are drooping and I feel the burn of anger and frustration leave me. It may be the last time I may update for a while. I have another chapter ready but I do not wish to post it yet. Why am I being so negative and stuboorn? I don't know why. I don't even know why I'm even typing this up. Perhaps it is time I take a break from writing fanfiction and actually live a life. After all, spending an entire month doing school, work, eat, sleep, is very taxing upon me.  
  
I beg for forgivenss if I offended anyone with this graphic chapter. Fanfiction seems to be the choice outlet for me but I cannot seem to provide the right stuff under the right criteria. But once again, it is my emotions and feelings that take over when I write. It is a force to be reckoned with.  
  
~Kingkazul400  
  
P.S. I will be taking a break for a month from updating. Please do not forget me while I am gone. I have a life out there in the world to get ready for. 


	7. Chapter 7: The Realization of Love and H...

===========  
  
Chapter 7: The Realization of Love and Hate  
  
===========  
  
Mark's hand wavered as a bead of sweat slowly rolled down his unshaven cheek. His hand, poised several feet above the sweat covered linen sheet, was slowly obeying his forced mental commands.  
  
(Lift the sheet, hand, lift it!)  
  
His hand resisted weakly, but the mind of the Master Tactician won it over. The hand slowly made its way toward the thrashing form, poised to lift the cover. First a finger, then another. Soon, his hand was ready to toss aside the covering cloth.  
  
With one great yank, Mark hurled the cloth onto the desk, next to where his drawn saber laid. Hearing a scream and receiving a kick, Mark landed heavily on his back with the wind knocked out of him.  
  
"Who are you!" a woman's voice screamed as another kick landed on his side. "You sick perverted animal!" The kicks came faster, each landing in the same region.  
  
"Who are you!" Mark retorted weakly as he struggled to get up. His right arm managed to block the next flurry of kicks. But the kicks came faster, each managing to maneuver past his futile barrier.  
  
"You get the hell out of here or I'll kill you!"  
  
"No way! This is my place!"  
  
"No matter!" Fiora stopped kicking and grabbed Mark's saber from the desk. "This'll make you leave, you monster!"  
  
Mark stopped struggling. The tip of his saber was hovering so close to his eye that if he had blinked, the tip would've scratched his eyelid. At the other end of the saber, a almost naked Fiora was glaring Rex Hastas at him. Taking a deep breathe, Mark steadied his temper.  
  
Surely Fiora clad in nothing but her underwear can do anything but kill him?  
  
"Put that down," Mark calmly said. "Put my saber down and I'll leave. I think you'll agree on that."  
  
"YOUR saber? You get the hell out of I'll make you pay for what you've done to me, you monster!" Fiora quickly whipped the saber back and stabbed Mark. "How dare you take away the last bit of dignity I had! I'll make you pay, not once but twice over, for what you've done!"  
  
The thin but sharp tip pierced through Mark's scant cloth garments, forcing its way into his chest. Mark gave a scream, shattering the peace that thinly covered the entire estate.  
  
Fiora yanked the weapon out, drunk in her anger. With a strange glint in her eyes, she stabbed down again and again. Three times more did she stab the fallen Master Tactician and three deep wounds appeared in Mark's chest.  
  
"Fiora... stop it..." Mark weakly protested when Fiora, exhausted from her sudden anger, dropped the saber.  
  
Fiora back away from Mark's body. Blood, his own blood, was squirting out like a fountain. His right hand moved to cover one of the bleeding wounds. The weak hand didn't succeed in shutting the fountain of blood, causing Mark to start convulsing in pain. His head rolled to face a frightened Fiora.  
  
Mark didn't panic. He knew something had happened to Fiora. But what? He knew his death isn't here. No lights were flashing before him and his eyes. But he may be wrong.  
  
With his left arm outstretched to her, Mark hoarsely whispered. "Fiora... I'm sorry..."  
  
Suddenly, the door to the room flew open. A panicked and frightened Gavin with an Iron Sword at the ready stood at the door. His quick eyes flew from Mark lying in a bloody puddle of Mark's own blood to the saber dropped next to Fiora. Gavin's eyes furrowed together and Gavin's grip on his sword tightened.  
  
"Master... are you alright?" Gavin said as he slowly walked toward Fiora, his gaze never averted. Mark looked at him and shook his head.  
  
"I'm afraid that what has happened is not of her fault, Gavin. Back down, I say. Back down!" Mark coughed up some blood, some which landed onto his hand. "Leave, Gavin. Go to town and get the bishop."  
  
"Are you sure, Master?" Gavin skeptically said as he took one step toward the door. "What if she..."  
  
"She won't do anything, Gavin. Just go and get the bishop!" Mark then coughed once more, this time, a great wad of phlegm mixed with blood arose from his mouth. "GO!"  
  
Looking longingly at Fiora, Mark gave a heavy sigh. "Fiora... whatever it was... I hope you may recover from it..."  
  
Fiora stood against the far side of the bed, totally scared by this... this strange man in her room. He looks so familiar yet Fiora does not know from where. As she gazed upon the bloody blade still in her hands, she saw a faint glimpse of a man similar to the one whom she injured except his eyes were crimson and two sharp fangs leered at her in a vile fashion.  
  
Quickly, Fiora tossed the blade away in horror. The saber made a loud clang when it struck the ground, filling the room with its harsh ring. Mark closed his eyes and winced. His saber wasn't meant to be beaten on the sides, nor was it meant to be used against him. Fiora took another look and a small pool of regret began to grow within her.  
  
Why had she stabbed him? Why? Fiora herself doesn't even know. Looking at the fallen form of Mark once more, the remorse within the Falcon Knight grew. But one small voice in her mind awoke.  
  
(Do you not know of what evils this man has done to you?) it questioned her in a menacing tone. (He has take the last bit of pride from you. Do you wish to let such a man walk away alive? Do you not feel the rage and anger that is roaring within your soul? Do you?)  
  
Fiora knew what the voice spoke was true. But she could not bend over and arm herself with the saber.  
  
(Blood has been spilt this night, voice,) Fiora replied. (I've already spilt blood in the past and I wish to not spill any more. Families have been divided and friends have been lost by the mere wave of a sword. I will not pay heed to your words.)  
  
(So be it,) the voice sneered. (But mark my words, such a man will try to take away another grain of your pride. If you dare to let a man live, I will have no choice but to intervene. Mind you, I will intervene on no one's command.)  
  
Suddenly, Fiora's head began to hurt. A strange, painful ache suddenly rended through her head as if demons were dancing a macabre dance of death within her skull. Wincing and giving a soft moan of agony, Fiora tried to steel back the pain.  
  
A great burst of black energy erupted from her forehead. It careened off of a wall and struck the floor. Fiora collapsed onto her knees and could barely see the shape the strange energy was forming.  
  
It was forming, slowly. The legs were forming yet they were still in a shadowy form. The vision, or so it seems, was slowly forming the body of a man. But as sure as Fiora was of her eyesight, this being was everchanging from man to woman, from a person or purity to one of shadow, of one of handsomeness to one of pure horror.  
  
When the face was finished forming, the eyes slowly opened. Looking at them, Fiora was paralyzed by a sudden strange bout of fear.  
  
It was the eyes of Horror and Fear. The Brothers of Shadows have come once more in Reality.  
  
"Greetings, Fiora of Ilia," the strange creature greeted in a guttural tone. "It has been our pleasure of enjoying your body. We hope to meet it once more." It gave a howl of laughter and Fiora couldn't help but clench her fist in rage.  
  
The eyes suddenly went from yellow to red. Fear was now in control.  
  
"Ilian Knight, our master was happy to relieve you of your burden. He, in the future, wishes to broker a deal with you concerning your future," Fear said in a raspy tone.  
  
"Tell that vile vermin that I deal not with demons!" Fiora shouted as her hands gripped themselves around the fallen saber. "You and your master may have taken my pride but it is you that shall lose your life!"  
  
The left eye shifted colors to yellow and both raspy and guttural laughter rung in the room.  
  
"Well said, Ilian Knight," Fear said in his raspy voice. "Yet you may be able to destroy our corporeal forms but be aware. We demons of shadow are immortal. Our bodies may die, our hearts may rot, but our souls shall continue to live. Nothing you nor the entire continent of Elibe can stop us!"  
  
Fiora couldn't take this insult no longer. Adding insult to her painful injury, Fiora's rage nearly blew the top. Already her tight grip on Mark's saber was ready to spear through the hearts of those demon brothers. But no matter. They shall pay dearly for what they made her do to Mark.  
  
Rushing forward and screaming for the blood of those two demons, she stabbed at the chest of the body. Fear's eyes returned and he quickly sidestepped the attack. With one hand out, Fear summoned dark energy into his hand.  
  
Fiora turned about, slashing diagonally, ready to spill the blood of her torturer. It connected, scoring a greyish blood wound across Fear's chest. The demon didn't flinch but the strange dark energy seemed to swell and grow.  
  
The nerves in her hands started to numb for an unknown reason. Fiora will herself to steady herself for another attack. With a glint in her, the Falcon Knight charged.  
  
"Prepare yourself for the second coming!" Fiora yelled as she ran the Saber through Fear's chest. It struck right onto its mark, burying itself deeply into the heart. Blood, of grey color, spurted out of the mortal wound. But Fear once again did not flinch.  
  
"Excellent show," said Fear as the demon looked her in the eye and gave a cackle. "But it is you that must prepare for the second coming. We demons of the shadows do not fade away easily."  
  
Before Fiora, the body of Fear and Horror slowly faded away. Their shared body slowly broke apart into smaller shimmers of dark light. As the twin demons faded away, a dark and malevolent laughter rang through the room. Looking behind her, Fiora screamed.  
  
Mark was standing upright once more. But the wound on his chest continued to flow, staining the blue-green carpet with his crimson blood. As each droplet connected with the material, it would rest on the floor and suddenly evaporate.  
  
Looking into his eyes, Fiora was horrified to learn why Mark is standing upright.  
  
The yellow eyes of Horror.  
  
"Well done, Ilian Knight," Mark's mouth moved. From the throat came the guttural voice of Horror, not the familiar gentle and calm voice of Mark. "As our bodies of the mortal plane may be of darkness, we retain the ability of possessing bodies, both living or dead. Now do you believe you can truly destroy us?" he gave a menacingly step closer to Fiora.  
  
"Why do you resist, why do you even bother?" Horror asked as Fiora slowly edged closer to the open window. "What is the point of being with this mortal, this man who sent many men and women to their deaths?" A strange ball of energy emerged from Mark's hand and struck Fiora.  
  
Fiora tried to move away but the energy from the ball bound itself about her body, keeping her locked within a small space. The animated body of Mark slowly walked toward her, blood still flowing freely from the deep wound she inflicted upon her beloved.  
  
(Is this is?) Fiora bitterly thought. (Can this be the reason why love must be forgotten?)  
  
=======  
  
Gavin ran as fast as he could through the light snow of Etruria. Cursing the early bitter chill of winter, the young Apprentice Tactician sought to find the local Church of St. Elimine.  
  
Running and running, he finally reached the main square. Hearing the bell tolling, Gavin oriented himself to the south. Shading his eyes from the sun rising in the east, Gavin found his goal.  
  
Running up the church steps, he pounded hard on the large oaken door. The cold numbed his hands, forcing Gavin to wince whenever a nerve reacted harshly to the pounding.  
  
"Open up, Bishop!" Gavin yelled as he continued to barrage the door. "Master Tactician Mark requires healing immediately!"  
  
Gavin heard something shuffle to the door and a yawning acolyte opened the door. Looking at the acolyte, Gavin was puzzled. Normally it was the Bishop who would be awake first.  
  
"Forgive my asking but where's the Bishop?" Gavin questioned the half-awake, half-asleep acolyte. The initiate pointed at at the altar.  
  
"Bishop Renault's been up half the night, praying," the young Monk grumbled as he stifled another yawn. "What's the business?"  
  
Gavin ignored the young Monk's questions and quickly vaulted himself to the altar where the Bishop was still praying. Before he could interrupt the Bishop's prayers, Gavin heard the Bishop raise his voice slightly.  
  
"... Warum Heiliger Elimine? Ist das Kriegkommen zu diesem Kontinent noch einmal? Können wir diesen zukünftigen Notstand verhindern? Ich bete, daß Sie uns das Zeichen zeigen, nach dem die Leute nach dieser Welt nach Ihrer heiligen und heiligen Stärke zeichnen..."  
  
(For those that don't speak German: "... Why Saint Elimine? Is war coming to this continent once more? Can we prevent this future calamity? I pray that you will show us the sign upon which the people upon this world will draw upon your holy and sacred strength...")  
  
With that, the blue-robed Bishop bowed to the altar of Saint Elimine. Bending over to pick up his staff, the Bishop suddenly spoke.  
  
"Who enters the Church of Saint Elimine at such hours?" the Bishop gruffly challenged, not even turning around. Gavin swallowed the growing lump in his throat before answering.  
  
"I, Gavin Firewind, Apprentice Tactician to Mark Sunfire, Master Tactician, do dare to intrude upon the Church of Saint Elimine at such early hours. I do dare to come and intrude for my Master is severely injured," Gavin hesitated. "I also fear that he may be close to death. The wounds are mortal."  
  
"Then why bother with the nonsense, my son!" the Bishop suddenly exclaimed. Seizing up his staff, he indicated for Gavin to lead the way. "Lead on, young Apprentice!"  
  
The Bishop's face finally came into view. The follower of Saint Elimine was a little taller than Gavin, roughly about six feet and two inches. The older man had green hair that was fading into grey, giving the Bishop an knowledgeable aura. Around the shoulders was a grey-blue cape which appeared to be somewhat old yet newly repaired. Grasping a Fortify staff in his right hand, the Bishop looked as if he was experienced in the ways of war and peace.  
  
Gavin gasped. This cannot be who he thinks it is.  
  
"Hm? Something wrong, my son?" the puzzled Bishop asked. Gavin speechlessly gestured at the Bishop.  
  
"Can you... are you?" Gavin tried to say what his mind thought but it all came out as a jumble of nonsense. Giving a swallow, he managed to blurt out: "Are you truly the Bishop Renault?"  
  
The green haired Bishop stood there silently in the chambers of Saint Elimine. A quiet voice finally spoke.  
  
"Renault was a name I used in the past," he softly said as he looked upon the altar of Saint Elimine. "That was also a name I used when I was a Mercenary long, long ago."  
  
Bishop Renault looked pensieve as he gazed upon the statue of Saint Elimine. A strange distant look came into his eyes.  
  
(Gagh, what am I doing!) Gavin berated himself. (I'm here to get the Bishop to heal my Master! What other errand do I have?)  
  
=====  
  
Fiora felt her blood go cold as the possessed body of Mark walked slowly around her. Those once warm hands would gently caress her almost naked form as she was held in paralysis by the strange magic barrier.  
  
"Phu-phu-phu..." Fear's voice emanated from Mark's mouth. "It was a pleasure taking your maiden-head in your dreams but in reality? I am honored." Stepping close, Fiora could feel the fetid breath of Fear blowing on her neck. Fear took in her scent and let out a pleased exhale.  
  
"Ah... the sweet smell of fear," the demon of the shadows grinned at Fiora. "I believe you will find this... hm... as enjoyable as the one you experienced in your mind? Hm?"  
  
"You will pay for this, you... you--"  
  
"--demon of the shadows and blah de blah. Get over it. At least you'll be enjoying something before your death," Fear picked up the saber and twirled the weapon in his hands.  
  
"That is..." Fear threw the saber like a javelin at a wall. It soared through the air and struck the wood. "If this body whom I possess has already... taken it?"  
  
"You sick pervert!" Fiora spat as she struggled to fight the magic. "Let me loose and I'll show you the strength of the Ilian Knights!"  
  
"Hoho! The serene warrior is ready for some fun? Pah! What a joke! You're just luring me into a trap where right when I least expect it, you do the usual run away crap. Get real, lady. This day, you won't be able to run away from everything." Fear placed one clammy hand on Fiora's forhead and a strange dark matter started to ooze from his hand into her.  
  
"Let go!" Fiora screamed at the top of her lungs. The black ooze started to pulse a strange red color. Fiora quickly felt a strange swaying sensation in her mind. Her still quick mind realized what this strange gooey matter was.  
  
It was that same crimson ooze from her dream!  
  
Before Fear could open his mouth to laugh, the door to the room swung open. A beam of white magic barreled through Mark's body, piercing the soul of Fear. Mark's eyes rolled in agony as he screamed. While Mark's bodily wounds were healed by the magic of light, the soul of Fear forced the body to collapse onto the ground. Writhing in pain, a grey matter began to exude from Mark's body.  
  
Gavin ran through the door as the beam of white energy continued to hurt Fear while healing Mark. In his sword arm was a unfamiliar sword that glittered with bright energy. Gavin leaped over his Master's possessed body to land next to Fiora.  
  
"Gods, I hope I don't miss," Fiora heard Gavin mumble as he raised the weapon. Bringing the sword down, he severed the magical bonds that held Fiora in place.  
  
Fiora collapsed on the ground in a heap, exhausted from struggling against the paralysis that temperarily bound her body in one point of space. Breathing heavily as large glistening balls of sweat rolled down her scantily clad body, she soon realized who was at the end of the beam of white magic.  
  
Mark's body finally stopped moving yet it occasionally twitched. The strange grey matter that was leaking out of his body was carried away by the wind. A strange howl was heard.  
  
"You'll pay this, Bishop!" they heard the voice of Fear snarl. "This isn't the last time you'll face the demon brothers of darkness!"  
  
Fiora shut her eyes, drained of most of her energy. She felt a hand place itself onto her forehead. An energy, one that was comforting and relaxing slowly expanded through her body. She slowly opened her eyes to see a familiar face.  
  
"Bishop Renault?" Fiora was amazed to see the kind man kneeling next to her. Renault nodded his head sadly.  
  
"Greetings, Fiora of Ilia," the old Bishop said sadly. "It's a wonder how you got here." Looking at her, the follower of Saint Elimine slowly turned a tad crimson. Fiora looked down at herself and was also embarrassed.  
  
Fiora was... not exactly completely clothed. While her undergarments were held in the stasis barrier, they had... become somewhat ripped. Her bra was torn slightly, exposing most of her flesh, and her panties were barely kept on the only remaining strap.  
  
"Er..." Renault hastily got up as he averted his eyes to the ceiling. "I suppose I'll check on Mark first. I'll attend to you when... er... when you're ready."

The Bishop half-ran, half-walked to the door. Slipping around the door without even averted his head from the blue ceiling, the Bishop shut the mahogany door gently. Fiora took the stunned final look at herself before she finally got up. Running over the closet behind, Fiora feared what might've happened if a certain green-haired pervert was here. Shuddering at the thought, the Falcon Knight proceeded to open the oaken closet.

Opening it, the Falcon Knight was surprised to see it not only held her tan Ilian uniform and armor but it also had other various dresses from all the regions of the continent of Elibe. There were several kimonos from the Sacae, ornate clothing imported from Bern, and the practical but beautiful plain dresses from Lycia. Feeling uncomfortable with such a sight of wealth and diversity before her, Fiora picked out her tan uniform and quickly donned it.

=======  
  
Gavin dragged Mark's unconscious body out of the room. While he would normally carry anyone on his back under any circumstances, the dead weight of Mark's body had taken its toll on Gavin's back. Blood still smeared Mark's body but thankfully the Bishop Renault was thorough in healing the Master Tactician.  
  
"Gavin, watch your master carefully," Renault said to Gavin when they were in another room. "I fear that there's an dark influence over his body. Make sure that he does not drink too much. And while you're at it, keep him confined to his room. He needs all the rest he can get."  
  
"But your lordship," Gavin protested. "Master is a forceful teacher. He will threaten me-"  
  
"And you will bear the brunt of it, I assure you," Renault replied. "Do what you must to keep him in his room. If he leaves and finds Fiora in her drained state, I fear that they both shall suffer severe consequences."  
  
"Of what consequences?" Gavin was puzzled. "It's not as if they're in love or anything." Renault slowly shut his eyes and gave a low sigh.  
  
"That is where you are wrong, young Apprentice Tactician," the Bishop said. "Love has separated these two souls for over two years. Do you know why your master has lately been quiet and solemn?" Gavin shook his head.  
  
"It was his pining for Fiora that kept him from having a hand in my studies, I suppose."  
  
"Exactly. When the Dark Druid Nergal was slain two years ago at the Dragon's Gate, a strange sickness of the soul fell upon Mark. He was the last person to have gazed upon Nergal. If my teachings are correct, the darkness that Nergal once served have taken refuge within Mark."  
  
"WHAT?!" Gavin leapt to his feet. "You mean that my Master is an insane man possessed by demons?!" Renault held his finger before his lips, asking Gavin to silence himself. The Apprentice sat down in a huff.  
  
"I have carefully monitored Mark over the past two years," Renault continued. "So far, nothing major has sprung from him. But until lately, I was plagued by a dream."  
  
"Of what? Of Mark going insane and hurling dark magic at the entire city?"  
  
"... To an extent, yes."  
  
"... You have got to be joking. I've known the Sunfire clan since I was a lad of four. Mark's father was the Lord of this city for crying out loud!"  
  
"That may be so. But such noble ancestry does not cover up the dark side of their family. Heard you not of what had happened to Mark's great uncle Lord Leroy?"  
  
"... ... ... I heard barbarians captured him en route to the Western Isles for a visit. Then he returned after sixteen years."  
  
"Well, you've heard wrong. Lord Leroy was going insane with the dark magic within him. His family conspired to send him away at an early age but he had learned of such things from his trusty nurse. His nurse was sent away with the young Leroy. They returned sixteen years late once Leroy's parents died and his forgiving brother sent for him so that he can have his share of the estate. You can guess what happened after he returned from his sixteen year exile."  
  
"Ah... I think I remember this now. Leroy slew his blood related family and took over Lordship of this city?"  
  
"Exactly. The records of such things were destroyed and those who were loyal to the old family were eliminated. Fortunately, his parents were unpopular and so was his brother. They were all miserly with their gold and unwilling to help the common people. Until Leroy came back, the people had no choice but to suffer."  
  
"Did the Marquess of Reglay know of such dealings?" Renault shook his head.  
  
"This was a familial matter. The other Lords were smart enough to keep their noses away from this kind of business. Besides, they all liked Leroy in comparison with the rest of his immediate family."  
  
"Can we get to the point, your honor? I know that as interesting as Master Mark's familial history is, I need to know why we must maintain high alert over him."  
  
"YOU must keep watch of him for the next week. It'll take that long for him to recover. By that time, I'll be ready to take over the job of guarding him. For now, I must tend to Fiora. I fear that the darkness has also slipped within the knight of Ilia."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"The demon Fear and has lain hidden deep within the bodies of the Sunfire clan. It was their curse and now it is their burden. They guard Fear so that the world would not see the destruction of the world."  
  
"Fear? A lone demon? What evil could one demon cause?"  
  
"A lone demon cannot cause much chaos but it is not just that. There was another family, one of Ilian descent that has also borne the burden of guarding the soul of Horror, the demon brother of Fear. Legend has it that if the two souls who are bearing the burden of Fear and Horror to marry and copulate, their first born child would be the entity which both demon brothers will be housed within."  
  
"So what you're saying is that if Fiora was a member of the other family which was charged with guarding the soul of Horror and that Mark was the guardian of Fear... does that mean--?"  
  
"You are absolutely right. If these two carry out the prophecy of the legend, then the end of the world may come."  
  
"I hope you're wrong."  
  
"Just tend to your master's wounds for now. I must go and check on Fiora. If you cannot find me later, I will be back at my church. I will send several of my assistants to help you with your task." The Bishop Renault slid back his chair and stood up. Walking toward the main door, he looked back at Gavin. "Keep him in your sight."  
  
"Why are you going back to your church?" Gavin asked as he also stood up.  
  
"I must pray for the answer to our problem." Opening the door, a great blast of wind blew snow within the door. Renault walked out of the door with his eyes shut in meditation.

=======

Author Notes: This was the result of a month's labors (on my meager spare time) on this chapter. That's why... I never exactly posted this up as soon as I orignally thought two months ago...

But I am happy to say that around June 17th, I can resume regular progress. Finals are from the 10th to the 17th and school will be out by the 20th. Yay for me. By then, I'll make this thing go a tad faster.


	8. Chapter 8: The End Justifies the Means

Chapter 8: The End Justifies the Means

Renault quickly yet quietly shut the church door behind him. Walking past the pews through the center of the main aisle, he nodded to several of his fellow followers of Saint Elimine. Reaching the altar, he bowed his head for a moment.

"By the light and by the stars," Renault murmured softly as he gripped his staff. "I pray to you for the future and how they are." Straightening up, he walked to the door on the right.

The room inside was made of wood, the same kind as the rest of the church was made of. But charms against fire and damage hummed quietly in the wood. Renault knew who had placed the spells within. On the other side of the room, another man in the similar garb of a Bishop sat in a creaky wooden swivel chair.

"I see you're finally back, Renault," a man's voice said. "I trust you found more information concerning the connection between the bearers of Fear and Horror?" Bishop Renault bowed to the man.

The man, dressed in the same garb of a bishop as Renault, had a white beard, which extended down to the man's waist. His head was slowly balding, showing only traces of wispy white hair around the ears. The other Bishop had blue eyes that could pierce a person's mind if they wished. This other follower of Saint Elimine was obviously Renault's superior but he was significantly gaunter and less experienced in the ways of war. While Renault can easily be mistaken for a warrior due to his height, his superior was very diminuitive. His hands were gnarled, showing the world of the magic that assaulted his hands before. Renault's own hands were still fine but signs of over-using magic were appearing from the cracks that were evident on his hands.

"Pope Baldwin," Renault said as he hung his cloak on the cloak rack on the wall to his right. "It is an honor to speak to you personally." The two believers of Elimine shook hands.

"How are you during these cold times?" Pope Baldwin asked his friend as they both sat down across from each other. "I do believe you are more at home with the seasons of warmth?"

"Aye, that may be so," Renault replied. "But where Saint Elimine sends us, we must obey. How else are we to prevent the rise of demons?"

Pope Baldwin nodded his head. "Aye, we of the Church have sworn to protect Elibe from this menace. So far, I do believe we are to be the generation to discover the vessels, don't you think so?"

Renault couldn't help but agree wholeheartedly. "Couldn't have put it any better, Master Pope. If the records and visions are true, then the Order of Runeseekers will be able to eliminate this threat."

"Bishop Renault," the Pope patted his subordinate on the right shoulder. "It is amazing to see that you have risen quickly through the ranks of the Order of the Runeseekers. May I ask something? How is it that you know so much of the Demon Brothers?"

"I hate to be sounding boastful, Master Pope," Renault said. "But it was through a recent friend from whom I've managed to learn the whereabouts of the demons. From that reliable source, I've managed to target the location of the demons."

"Oh really?" There was a pique of interest in the Pope's tone.

"Yes, Master Pope," Renault said. "In fact, the two demons in question are in this region right now."

"... You're serious?" the Pope eyed him warily. "Renault, we're getting too old for practical jokes. After all, we're reaching our winter years."

"Of course I'm serious!" Renault exclaimed as he pulled a scroll from within his robes. "How else was I able to acquire this?"

Pulling open the yellowing scroll open, Bishop Renault revealed the truth to his superior. Pope Baldwin visibly turned paler.

(This... this...) the Pope's mind reeled. (This can't be the family tree of the Sunfire clan!) His eyes darted from the line traced upon by someone else's quill, possibly Renault's, from Leroy Sunfire all the way down to Mark Sunfire. Glancing at the marriages that happened along the way, the Pope was surprised to learn of several critical details.

"Where did you get this?" Pope Baldwin weakly said. Renault calmly removed the scroll from the elder's hands and placed it upon the desk, which he leaned against.

"While the Library of Records in this city is supposed to be the best in Etruria, I found the personal records of the Sunfire clan to be much more... detailed," Seizing his cloak and staff, Renault started to walk toward the door, intent on leaving.

"Wait..." Renault glanced over his shoulder to find his superior seething slightly with rage.

"Do you realize what might happen if word of your thievery of such an important document gets out?!" the Pope exclaimed as Renault rested a hand on the door. Turning fully around, Renault gave a dark glare in his superior's direction.

"Faith in the Church would disentigrate if word slips out. Who knows, I might be forced to expel you from the Order of Runeseekers and excommunicate you! Do you wish for me to do such a thing to a aspiring Cardinal?" Pope Baldwin continued as spittle flew from his mouth.

"As you have ordered me to do so before, Lord Pope," Renault said quietly as he tapped his fingers on his staff. "You had told me to do whatever it takes to find the vessels for Fear and Horror. Were those not your exact words, Master Pope?"

Pope Baldwin looked down mumbled to himself about such Machiavellian tactics. Renault gave a satisfied glance and opened the door. Before his cloak completely disappeared from the Pope's sight, Renault gave one last statement.

"The end justifies the means, Master Pope. The end justifies the means."

* * *

Fiora paced about her room, drinking from a Elixir vial that she found in the dresser next to the bed. Fiora had quickly found her clothes, which composed of her tan dress, blue boots that reaches halfway to her slim thighs, her black leather sword belt, and blue wrist-length gloves. She left the armor off as she did not want to tire herself too quickly. Also, wearing armor on the estate of a friend would seem more of an threat than a precaution.

As she slowly sipped the blue curative liquid, Fiora wondered how she had come to be in Etruria in the first place. Seasons had changed and so had the minds of the people of Elibe but she was confused.

(What was my original mission?) the Falcon Knight wondered as she set the almost empty elixir vial on the table. (I can faintly remember something about telling something but what?)

She then sat down on the bed, unsure of what to do next. Flopping back onto the unaccustomed softness of the large silk bed, Fiora closed her blue eyes.

In the little time she had known Mark, she barely even knew what his origins were. In the taverns she had spent some time in, she knew very little beyond his name, fame and skill in tactics. But some rumors have abounded that Mark was the vessel for the demon Fear. Fiora had heard legends of the vessel arising after the failed resurrection of the Dragons of the Scouring.

The legends told of a man with the essence of Fear stored away in him. Fear was passed down through the bloodline of the man's family, always hiding within a man, never a woman. If Fear were to awaken in some way or another, Fear would cause chaos on Elibe and proceed to usher in a reign of terror that would give Nergal a run for his gold.

But a little known legend told of another family having the essence of Horror, the brother of Fear stored away in their family. But rather having it passed through the men in their family, the essence of Horror would lurk within the blood of the women instead. But not much was mentioned in the legends about Horror other than his thirst for wanton destruction. It is said that Fear is the more intelligent of the two demons.

Another little unknown legend told of what would happen if the two vessels for Fear and Horror had met and fell in love. In the few theories that arose out of the legend, it was voiced that Fear and Horror would use their powers to bring forth their Master of Destruction. This master of theirs would not only destroy the sense of peace and order that was on Elibe for the last two years but it would also wipe out most of the human race.

Fiora did not want such a thing to happen. After working so hard to keep the warfare limited to the occasionally bandit raid, the time for her to take a rest from the killing business has got to stop. Even though she is still wing commander, she has handed over more of the responsibility over to her sub-commanders.

Peace is precious. That she had remembered after joining with her sister and the company she kept. Even though she had many terrible memories during the campaign, especially on the Dread Isle, she cherished the other memories with the group.

A slight tapping on the door shook her from her peaceful reverie. The door creaked open inward and Mark's apprentice poked his head in. He gave a quick look and stepped in with a covered platter and a wineskin.

"Miss Fiora," the apprentice said as he set his load on the table in the room. "Bishop Renault told me to prepare you some form of sustenance. I hope my cooking satisfies your tastes."

"Hm..." Fiora sat up on the bed, brushing the few strands of her hair from her face. "I suppose I do need something to eat." She slowly stood up and walked over to where the apprentice had pulled out a chair from the table.

As she sat down, Mark's apprentice walked around to the other side and lifted the lid off of the platter. There were four dishes of food, ranging from simple wheat bread with butter smeared on it to a particularly complex stew consisting of several meats and lots of vegetables, making it seem like a island floating in the middle of a reddish-orange ocean. Fiora picked up the spoon and proceeded to begin on the stew. Her eyes lit up as she experienced a nirvana of food in her mouth.

"This... this is excellent!" Fiora said after she swallowed the wonderful concoction. "Is the recipe yours, er, I'm sorry but I haven't quite heard your name?"

"I am Gavin Firewind, Apprentice Tactician to Mark Sunfire, Master Tactician. I'm sorry but the recipe isn't mine." Gavin then opened the wineskin. Pulling a wineglass to him, the Apprentice spoke as he poured the reddish-purple wine into the clear glass. "The recipe was something Master Mark taught me last month. Not as good as him but he says I'm getting better. I suppose it's one of those things a Tactician has to learn, I suppose."

Fiora couldn't help but agree. After eating plain rations and tavern food for the past month, this delightful meal of both Gavin's and Mark's. She tried to make herself eat at a rather sedate pace but with each bite, she had a harder time resisting the need to wolf down all this lovely food like a common barrack soldier. Soon, all that was left was just some crumbs of bread and the last dredges of the stew. Gavin refilled her wineglass for the last time before replacing all the utensils back into the covered platter.

"Tell me," Fiora queried as she sipped her wine slowly, her hunger happily satiated from the delightful meal. "What has your master been teaching you besides his cooking?"

"Well... keeping a log of travels, balancing budgets, keeping track of inventories, and generally keeping morale high among the ranks," Gavin recited as he ticked each point off on his fingers. "There's some basic weapon training he had been meaning to teach me but as of late..."

Gavin trailed off and stared listlessly at the floor. Fiora watched the apprentice and moved to nudge him out of his sudden stupor. Gavin snapped from his reverie upon her touch and hastily stood up and gathered the remnants of the meal. Bowing repeatedly before exiting, Fiora was left to further rest her still weary self.

Standing up, the Falcon Knight of Ilia went out onto the balcony. The crisp cold of air of an Etrurian winter was still lingering about even though the sun was barely even coming down from noon. Placing her hands on the snow covered balcony, Fiora closed her eyes and took a deep breathe. Exhaling slowly, a faint grin appeared.

"Such sweet air... only the mountain air is sweeter..."

* * *

Cursing and swearing at his weakness for falling into trance-like lapses where he becomes lost in his thoughts, Gavin set the last dry plate in the cabinet for storage. As he closed the panel, he heard several clicks of a boot on the tiles that made the floor.

"Is it ready?" a hoarse whisper asked as Gavin kept his back turned. "Is all according to our plan?" Gavin gave a dismissive snort and turned around.

A person stood several feet away, behind the counter, which still had a flagon of wine with several glasses on it. Black cloth wrapped the person from head to toe, leaving only slits for the eyes to see out of and the mouth for clear enunciation. The newcomer leaned against the counter and waited for Gavin to pour the wine. The apprentice tactician readily complied, pouring the crimson liquid into the two chalices.

"Did you expect to believe that I had easy pickings on this assignment? Look at me, I'm in the home of an actually intelligent person playing the part of a student! Have you any idea how hard it was for me to not excel in my studies?" A low and dark chuckle came from the unseen speaker.

"Clean your ears out, 'Gavin'. I bring word from the higher-ups concerning our operation. Did you slip the sedatives into the Pegasus Knight's wineglass?"

Gavin snorted derisively at being reminded to do something amazingly simple. "Bleh, even a blind and bungling archer couldn't have any trouble slipping that powder into her food! Why do you think they call me--"

"Shhh! Not here! Someone might be listening!"

"... you worry too much, Olrox."

The cloaked visitor flinched and nervously looked over his shoulder to the door that led to the Grand Dinner Hall. Apart from Gavin's chatter, nothing moved outside. Sharpening his hearing and tuning out Gavin, an ability that was very useful around the talkative fool, Olrox left half his attention upon what was outside of the kitchens.

"... and then, these two wackoes pop out of that woman's flesh, scaring that living daylights out of me! I swear why am I a Runeseeker, Olrox? This job is too damn dangerous!"

"... Gavin?"

"Yes, Olrox?"

"Shut up."

"... okay..."

They stood there, leaning against the counter and slowly making the flagon's contents disappear. Both seem to be capable of holding their liquor, until Gavin decided to open his mouth to continue talking.

"Bishop Renault wishes to know if he will succeed Pope Baldwin as the next Pope of the Church." Gavin said as he tried to pour more wine into his glass. His hand knocked over the near empty flagon, causing it to roll near the edge. Olrox moved quickly as if he wasn't under the influence and righted the flagon on the table.

"You dunderhead..." Olrox muttered as he poured himself some more of the wine. The last drops fell into his glass, which he quickly downed in case Gavin should steal what was his. As he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Gavin's head started to droop.

"The higher-ups want Bishop Renault to stay at his current position," Olrox said as he swilled his wine in his glass, observing the glow of the alcohol in the candlelight. "They say that he's not ready for Ascension to Papancy. While his record for involving himself in the Dragon's Gate debacle is rather interesting to look at, they still wish that Renault to further prove himself in more covert matters."

"Covert? He didn't even get his cover blown during that incident!"

"Then why did he reveal himself to Lady Isadora, Legault the Hurricane, and Bishop Lucius?"

"Er... Lady Isadora wanted some time for a Confession... Legault wanted to speak to him concerning something about a killer... and Bishop Lucius wanted to know about the disease of the heart?"

"... it's good that you paid attention to what Master Mark had to hear. Imagine, having the indecency of being a nosy fool while doing whatever a Tactician does."

* * *

A young lady that appeared no more than seventeen ran around the corner, weeping. Mark, being confused as to what strange world he had fallen into, didn't step out of the way quick enough. The young maiden collided into Mark, sending the Tactician head over heels. He landed on his back, staring at the strangely bright sky above him. Getting up to his knees, he was greeted by the wet and tear-sodden face of the maiden.

As the confused Tactician began to recover, he noticed that this young lady looked oddly familiar. She had blue hair, which was almost the same tone and shade as Fiora's. Her hair was also long and tied back into a ponytail with a white band that seemed as pure as white flames. Her dress, which was rather close fitting, was slightly marred with dirt and what seemed to be flecks of blood. A small scab on her arm had apparently broken open.

"Er... hello." Mark said as he brushed off the dirt from his clothes. _Dirt? Isn't it winter..._

"H-h-h-ello..." the maiden said between sniffles as she looked rather abashed. "Didn't mean to h-h-hit you..."

"Er..." Mark looked around the place where he had suddenly appeared. So far, everything looks like home. "Is this the town of Rithen?"

The maiden shook her head. "Rithen was the old name for this city. It is now the city of Dreizhen. Sixteen years ago, a force of unknown parameters emerged here, causing many of the folk to flee. My father and mother sacrificed themselves to destroy the monsters that emerged from the dark ritual that occurred. And now, I'm an orphan in the care of the local Church of Saint Elimine."

Mark couldn't help himself. "Pardon my asking... but who were your parents?"

"Sir Mark Sunfire and Lady Fiora Icewind."

Mark fell down onto his knees, felled and weakened by the sudden burst of this information. Feeling his child's hand upon his shoulder, he shakily asked: "Are you sure?"

She nodded her head but her face was suddenly worried.

"Are you alright, good sir?" Mark brushed her hands off of him, not wanting to feel the reality of it. She looked hurt and Mark began casting for a lie.

"I... just recently arrived from a distant land. I fear I might have a disease which you might not be immune against." Mark stuttered as he grasped the wall to his left and groped his way back up.

His child, gods bless her, didn't scream or shout about unknown diseases from unknown lands. Instead, she grabbed his right shoulder and slung his arm over her neck. Protesting, Mark tried to pull away. Amazingly, she didn't let go and applied pressure, forcing the Tactician to submit. She led him down the street, opposite of which she had come from. Mark contented himself by looking at the town that grew into a city, seeing old friends that have grown older and children that have matured.

They finally came to the entrance of a church. The maiden released Mark and opened the door with a heavy hand. The great doors swung open and she beckoned for him to follow. Passing through the aisles, Mark felt a slight giddiness. It was possible that he would see Fiora walk down the aisle in reality. They finally reached the wooden door that was situated to the right of the main court. The maiden made a fist and knocked several times. Without waiting for a reply, she opened the door. She beckoned Mark to enter but he shook his head.

"Hm? What is it, Fiona?" a gentle but slightly tired voice asked from inside.

"I've brought a traveler here, Bishop Lucius."

_BISHOP LUCIUS?!_ For the second time in less than an hour, Mark was stunned and on his knees. He felt his blood rushing into his legs and saw stars smashing before his eyes. Feeling the need to lie down, Mark struggled to move his body so that he would be lying down in the nearby pews. He nearly made it but two pairs of hands quickly hoisted him up and sat him in the wooden pews.

"Is this the traveler, Fiona?" an older and slightly graying Lucius asked as the former Monk looked into Mark's right eye for gods-know-what. Fiona nodded her head.

Mark hoped that Lucius wouldn't readily recognize him. In the twenty years that he had, as Fiona had told him, disappeared from existence, perhaps Lucius had forgotten who he was. Lucius gave a grunt and stood back, staring very hard at Mark. The Tactician fidgeted slightly, hoping that Lucius wouldn't outrightly recognize him.

"Well... I believe I might know you, stranger," Lucius finally said. The strange floating feeling in his stomach sank heavily. Mark felt his hands begin to fill up with sweat.

"Fiona, would you be kind enough to leave us?" Lucius softly asked the young lass. Fiona hesitated and nodded her head. Giving a small curtsy, she left the office. Mark exhaled a considerable amount of air and immediately relaxed in his seat.

"Well, well," Lucius said as he smiled. "What brings you into the future, Mark?" The Tactician sat upright and began to tell his tale.

"And now you're here in this supposed dream world of yours?" Lucius asked thoughtfully. "That is interesting... However, Fiona is not your only child."

"What? She's not my only child?" This surprised Mark. He had always speculated that Fiora would most likely bear a daughter, considering Ilians seem to favor girls over boys for rather obvious reasons.

"Yes, she's not your only child," Lucius repeated softly. "I know you don't know because you're supposed to be dead for sixteen years this winter. Fear and Horror, the demon servants of Shaher, rose and began their campaign of destruction. Both you and Fiora had a set of twins, a boy and a girl."

"Twins? Two children?"

"Yes, two children. Why so surprised, Mark?"

"Are they... still following our footsteps?"

"You mean your trades? Fiona has followed her mother's footsteps. But your son didn't become a Tactician like you."

"What?! Do you mean to tell me that the knowledge of tactics are now lost forever to the Sunfire clan? I'm the last of the Sunfires!"

"Calm down, Mark. Your son vowed to avenge both of your deaths and spent the past sixteen years training for battle."

"For battle?! He's nothing more than a military meathead who takes nothing but orders?! What is he now, a short order cook?!"

"No, he's an officer in the Etrurian army. A Dragoon to be precise."

"WHAT?! I'm gonna--"

"--with a heavy background in Tactics and Logistics."

"—hug him until he turns blue from lack of air!"

* * *

Farther north of Etruria, a young man walked gingerly across a frozen pond. Testing each step of the way with his Lance, the cloaked figure halted to a rest. Looking up at the cliffs with large pieces of ice sticking out at odd angles from the sides, the young man searched and searched along the ice ridges. He soon found a small opening and stepped into the space that was free from the chilling winds that were prevalent in the Northeast Turgin Mountains.

Pulling his cloak away from most of his body to allow more free movement, one could see that from his armor and badge of rank that this young man was a Dragoon. As the hood was pulled back, his slightly unkempt blue hair with pale green eyes could be barely spotted from the pure blue ice that surrounded him. He continued through the small opening in the mountain and he finally reached a small lake within the protective ridges. Nothing else could be heard apart from the crunching noise of his leather boots with steel reinforcement upon ice.

"If the legend is true..." the blue haired Dragoon murmured as he stopped before the frozen waterfall.

Pulling out a small crystal fragment from beneath his chain mail, the fragment began to pulse, shedding its light upon the wall of ice and the surrounding are that consisted nothing but of eternal winter. Giving a small shiver, the aqua haired Knight raised the fragment into the air.

"Fragment of the Sacred Spear, show me the way!" the Dragoon cried. The crystal fragment's glow halted for a moment. It slowly levitated into the air, just mere inches above the Knight's hand. Suddenly, a great pulse of light burst forth from the crystal fragment. The Dragoon felt the wave of light blast through him but no damage was done to either his body or mind.

The wave of light swept all over the frozen lake. As the seemingly innocent light passed through each large block of ice, the normal blue sheen changed to a orange-red color. The Dragoon looked back at the waterfall before him. His mouth dropped in amazement. The wall of ice slowly faded away like a ghost banished from the realm of the living. As it faded away, it revealed a large set of staircase that even rivaled the Tower of Light. The fragment dropped back into the Dragoon's outstretched hands. He then quickly pocketed the precious piece.

The Dragoon stood there for a moment, unsure to whether or not march forth without his comrades or wait. The Frozen Spear was in great need but he was unsure if it was wise to step forth into the darkness armed only with his

"I finally caught up with you, Kamui," a familiar voice called from behind the Dragoon. The blue haired youth quickly turned around and was relieved to see someone that he can trust.

"Cybil!" the young Dragoon cried as he stepped away from the staircase. He eagerly ran to the newcomer, skidding slightly on the frozen earth.

Having not seen Cybil in such a long time had made Kamui a bit worried. The fact that Cybil was an expert Sorceress didn't allay most of the young Dragoon's fears. In fact, the two of them had been friends ever since Kamui first shipwrecked onto the island of Solea, which Kamui had long thought, was a myth. Cybil herself was a member of an organization sponsored by the Pope known as the Order of the Runeseekers. The Sorceress told Kamui when they first met that the Order's mission was to ensure that the evil spirits that had awoken sixteen years ago were permanently gone or at least held in some dimension where they cannot escape. Kamui, having been separated from all known allies, agreed to help Cybil in return for a ship off of the island. Believing that by dividing their resources would bring their mission to a quicker end, they both eventually found a fragment that was rumored to be a piece of the Sacred Spear.

In the two months that they had agreed to part ways, Cybil seemed more tired than she did when they first met. Shiven, the Sorceress's servant and spy had told Kamui that Cybil was undergoing some stress and unrealistic demands from the higher-ups in the Order. Her battle fan, which she affectionately called the Caldia, was still in perfect condition. But her cold weather dress and cloak were another story. There were rips and tears in her cloak, causing the Dragoon to think that she had been attacked on her way here.

"Cybil? What happened to you? Where's Shiven and the others?" Kamui asked as his countenance became concerned. He immediately seized Cybil's right arm. The Sorceress gave a gasp of surprise and tried to break free from the Dragoon's grip.

Kamui lifted the part of the cloak that covered her arm. He was horrified and appalled at the scars and dried blood that covered what had once been the Sorceress's right arm, her stronger and spellcasting arm. Looking at her with his pale green eyes that matched wills with Cybil's own brown eyes, Kamui slowly pulled the cloak back onto her arm.

"What happened, Cybil?" Kamui softly asked as he let go of her arm. The Sorceress didn't reply and turned away. She busied herself with the cloak, trying to cover more and more of her arm up.

"I was... attacked... by the Undead Legion..." she finally said without turning back to him. "I found out what the name of the spear was. It's 'Longicolnis'. Deciphered from the language of the Ancients, it means 'Long Horn'--"

"Cybil, don't talk about the Sacred Spear," Kamui said as he roughly seized her by her body.

The Sorceress struggled to be free from his rough touch but didn't manage to get free. As Kamui visibly relaxed and began to carry her towards the small pass to the outside of the ridges, Cybil then slammed her right heel of her snow boots into the Dragoon's groin. He let go of her and sprawled onto all fours, gasping for air as the pain registered high on his pain scale. Cybil smoothed out her dress and continued as if nothing had happened.

"A black horn is more fitting than a beautiful halo for an fallen angel," she said as Kamui slowly got onto his knees, biting the top of his lip in order to steel back the pain. "He's an angel who's been stained black with sin, an angel that fell from heaven and was sealed here by God."

"That's... good..." Kamui said through gritted teeth_. What happened to you, Cybil? I thought you trusted me... am I not your friend? And why are you obsessed about the Sacred Spear? I thought you had better goals in the Order of the Runeseekers to deal with..._

"His name is Shaher. He is an archangel who fought for the humans in the Scouring." Cybil continued.

"The Scouring..." Kamui murmured.

"You've seen the light the fragment emits, right? That fragment is a missing piece of the Sacred Spear."

Suddenly, everything seemed to click in Kamui's mind. His comrade, Rictor, and his crew's desire to come to this frozen land. Lord Naris Batraal and his clan's desire to obtain the northlands from Lady Ivanna and her rebels. The Mage twins that were working for the Batraals and their researches that concerned the location of the Sacred Spear. Everything is fitting together.

"Shaher was manipulating Naris..." Kamui finally said as he slowly got up, brushing snow and ice from his armor and tunic. "So that he can be resurrected. We can't let that monster do as he pleases. He's forced the Mage twins twice already into forcing back Ivanna's soldiers from Castle Formida. Naris challenged me when I found the fragment in the crypts of his ancestors." He fell silent and looked at the Sorceress.

"Cybil, please help us. With you on our side—"

The Sorceress immediately lunged forward and punched through Kamui's armor into his left side. She quickly drew away from Kamui. In her hand was a small dagger with a very fine blade. Kamui was stunned and felt a bit dizzy. Taking another look at the dagger, he noticed very few flecks of blood were on it but a strange green ichor was hanging onto the rest of the blade. Falling onto one knee, the Dragoon gripped his side and felt a dull ache.

"Ah... Cybil..." Kamui gasped out as his vision began to swim. Cybil was gritting her teeth and dropped the dagger, as if the very act she just committed was completely against everything she had lived her life for.

"Why," the Dragoon asked weakly. The Sorceress did nothing but turn her back to him, her head drooping slightly as her body shook from fright. "Why, Cybil?"

Looking at his right hand, Kamui noticed a strange purple glow within him. _Poison... why are you like this, Cybil? I helped you find the Fallen Angel's resting-place... you used me..._

"... I'm sorry to betray you," Cybil simply said. "But I just can't trust you."

"Why?" Kamui repeated faintly. "... have you distrusted me from the beginning?"

The Sorceress took several tentative steps towards the seemingly endless staircase and looked into it. "Kamui," she said after a pause. "There's too much that's important to you. I can't trust someone like that. You'll sacrifice everything for your ideals."

The Dragoon felt a sudden burst of energy surge within him. Fighting to stand up, Kamui brushed away the weak feeling that poison usually gives him. "What gives you the right to denounce what I believe in, Sorceress?" Kamui demanded coldly.

"Do you understand?" Cybil said, ignoring Kamui's demand. "I can't go with you." She turned around, facing him. Taking the several steps back towards him, Cybil began to toy with the dagger in her hand. "Now, why don't you give me the spear fragment?"

"No, Cybil," said Kamui as he wavered slightly and swept his arm across his chest as if sweeping aside her demand. "I've worked too hard to get this far. There is no way you are going to take this from me. Even if you manage to get to Shaher's tomb, he'll force you to comply with his demands. You're more than just a friend to me, Cybil!"

"Don't worry," the Sorceress gave a lighthearted laugh and brushed her golden locks from her face. "I'll manage. And if you do give me the spear fragment, I'll give you the antidote for that poison of mine. It's very slow acting but it's relatively difficult to cure. And if I know you as well as you don't know me, you don't carry potions with you." She then resumed toying with her dagger.

"Forget about all this," she said in a different tone. "Go back to your hometown and start a new life with your loved one." As she said those words, a dark cloud emerged from the staircase and stopped next to the Sorceress. A mouth formed and a harsh but amused voice emanated from it.

"INDEED... HE CANNOT BE TRUSTED. HE HAS FORGOTTEN THAT YOU HAVE SAVED HIS LIFE," the odd cloud said. "HE REALIZES NOT THAT IT WAS YOU WHO MADE EVERYTHING POSSIBLE." Kamui noticed that Cybil didn't seem to resist the cloud's words. The Sorceress seemed unusually agreeable to the voice, one thing that Kamui learned about the Sorceress.

"AND BECAUSE OF HIS FRIEND'S INFLUENCE, HE HAS KEPT YOU AT ARM'S LENGTH," the cloud continued. It slowly took form, appearing as a head composed of dark fire.

"Who is that? Stop!" Kamui struggled to say in his fury. He took one step toward the fire cloud and lunged at it with his bare hands. He passed right through it without even getting burned. "That's not true!"

"YOU KNEW FROM THE BEGINNING THAT RICTOR DISTRUSTED THIS WOMAN AND NOW YOU HAVE STARTED TO DOUBT HER TOO," the demonic voice said with a bit of glee hidden. "YOU NEVER EXPECTED MUCH OUT OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HER."

"That's a lie!" Kamui snarled as he fought against the poison that was running rampant in his veins. "Cybil, you must not listen to him! I had no choice but to save Rictor! He was my only friend!"

"Really?" Cybil asked warily with a raised eyebrow to Kamui. "Then does that mean I am not your friend?"

"No! I didn't mean it that way!"

"THAT IS WHY YOU SAVED YOUR OLD FRIEND," Shaher's voice cut right through Kamui's protests. "YOU LISTENED TO HIM AND EARNED HIS TRUST, WHICH MEANS YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO PUT YOUR FAITH IN HIM RATHER THAN IN HER."

"You're wrong!" Kamui protested as he slowly fell onto one knee, tired from fighting both the poison and Shaher's false words. "That's not..."

"WOMAN, YOU ARE NO FOOL. YOU SEE HOW IT IS, RIGHT?" Shaher continued, his flame head facing the silent Cybil. "A LOVED ONE THAT HE PROTECTS, A FRIENDSHIP THAT HAS ENDURED MANY HARDSHIPS, AND COMRADES THAT HAVE FOUGHT AT HIS SIDE. WHAT MORE DOES HE NEED? YOU ARE OF NO USE TO HIM."

Cybil's eyes became glassy. She wavered slightly as both the projection of Shaher and a severely poisoned Kamui looked on.

"I..." Cybil said softly as she looked sadly onto Kamui. She quickly snapped her gaze and changed it to that of cold fury.

"What have I done to you, Cybil? Is there something that you're trying to tell me? Is it because I'm in love with Eleanor?" Kamui weakly said as his other knee met the frozen earth.

"POOR WOMAN," Shaher's voice said in a supposed soft and caring tone. "I WILL GRANT YOUR WISH IN EXCHANGE FOR THE EMPTINESS IN YOUR HEART."

_What?! Is the thrice-damned demon going to possess her? Cybil... you must not give in!_

"YOU AND I WILL BRING CHAOS AND DESTRUCTION TO THIS WORLD," Shaher continued. "WOMAN, WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WISH FOR?"

Cybil slowly turned toward the flame cloud. Kamui shut his eyes as he waited for the inevitable.

"My life is in your hands..." the Sorceress said in a blank tone. "I want him dead."

The flame cloud swirled and separated into seven other similar sized clouds. They scattered and began to surround Kamui from all sides. As each cloud neared, Kamui saw the cloud flame of Shaher giving out a harsh laugh.

"VERY WELL, WOMAN. YOUR WISH WILL BE GRANTED."

One cloud was close to touching his cheek with one of its many tendrils of flames, ready to give more and more pain to his body. Another was behind him, its own tongues of flame ready to burn. Kamui blinked and began to pray for Cybil's soul.

_She's selling it to Shaher... how did it come to this? _Kamui fell onto his face, drained from the battle of wills and against the poison.

"Nooooo!" a familiar feminine voice called from farther away. Kamui looked up and saw the dark flame encircling Cybil. _No, it couldn't be..._

"Kamui!!!" a woman's voice that was different than Cybil's cried. Footsteps were heard as ice was crunched underneath. Kamui felt a pair of a woman's hands support his wilting body.

"E... Eleanor?" Kamui asked weakly as he allowed himself to be supported.

"Don't interfere," Cybil's mouth said. Her voice was hollow. "There's nothing you can do."

_Already possessed? No... how am I going to save her?_

"But why, Cybil?" Kamui croaked. "I..."

"Kamui... if you die here, you'll be mine forever." Cybil turned away from Kamui and Eleanor, who was trying as hard as she could to get them both out of the entrance to Shaher's Tomb. The Sorceress opened her arms in welcome to the flame cloud, which immediately summoned back all of its other subordinate flame clouds. "Shaher, I welcome you to my empty heart!"

"Nooooo!" Kamui feebly cried as Eleanor began to cast spells to protect themselves. The flame clouds swirled around Cybil, engulfing the Sorceress. A pure white light cascaded upon Kamui and Eleanor and a shimmering magic barrier appeared around the two. Immediately, Kamui felt the effects of the poison leave his body. Looking down at the wound at his side, he was surprised to find that there was no longer a gash in his side.

"Eleanor... thank you," Kamui said as he gently shrugged Eleanor's support.

"But you're still injured, Kamui! You can't fight right now!" the spellcaster reprimanded. "You're not going to fight until I say so, Kamui!"

"But she's our friend! We never let our friends down, even when they've gone bad!"

"Kamui Mark Sunfire! When will you ever learn to follow a woman's orders?"

"When I'm married and living off of my family's estate!"


	9. Chapter 9: The Forgotten Past

Chapter 9: The Forgotten Past...

* * *

Olrox was getting tired. Leaning against the counter of the kitchen in the estate of Mark Sunfire doing nothing but drink wine with Gavin was boring him. Oh sure, the wine was excellent. A proper 936 Human Era it was. Even though wine takes usually around ten to twenty years to mature properly, the wine pressed in 936 were considered to be Etruria's best. The maple was sound that year, the harvest fruitful, and the texture of the wine was one that could have rivaled the food of the gods.

Gripping his head slightly, the dispatch from the Order of the Runeseekers looked over at Gavin. The apprentice to Mark had collapsed in his drunken stupor, sprawling half on the counter and half on the floor. It was odd seeing a red headed spy with his robes mussing up his hair along with a string of drool hanging out of the corner of Gavin's mouth.

Resisting the urge to kick his associate, Olrox pulled back on his hood and began to leave the kitchen. Only when he passed a wine rack did he stop and select one. Storing it under his robes in a special sling for such purposes, the Runeseeker made his escape.

His leather boots crunched in the snow, leaving a small trail of shoeprints in the day old precipitation. Winter. What a dreaded season for such spywork. Back at his last post, he was happy to be working around the hours conducting research in the Lycian League. Why, even the Lords were kind enough to offer their vast collections of books for the use of the Order.

Through the courtyard he went, still deep in his thoughts. Only when he heard the gentle neigh of a horse did he hurry for cover. Ducking behind an evergreen bush, the Runeseeker held a hand over his furiously pounding heart and another over his hidden dagger. Olrox hated to kill, even if it was between life and death. Killing was something the Runeseeker would never get used to.

Peeping through several branches, Olrox spied the head of a horse sticking out of the stables that were on the right side of the vast Sunfire estate. Swearing at jumping and hiding from a normal animal, Olrox began to straighten and move away from the bush. But when the horse looked at him once more, Olrox immediately ducked back behind the bushes. The Runeseeker swore.

The horse was not alone. Nor was it a horse. On its shoulders was a pair of the largest feathered wings that Olrox had ever seen. Beside the pegasus was a maiden in a sky blue dress that barely covered her shoulders with its thin straps and stopped just above her knees. What made Olrox stare in wonder was that the boots she had came a little over her knees and how close fitting the dress was. The Church of Saint Elimine usually doesn't have much tolerance for such dress but as of late, with much influence from the younger ministry and clergy, such condemnation of such styles of dress was more tempered and controlled.

Cautiously, Olrox parted a branch. The pegasus neighed once more and the maiden looked towards him. Swearing once more below his breath, the Runeseeker could've sworn once more that both the pegasus and maiden saw him. He let the branch fall back into place and held his hand over his rapidly beating heart in a vain attempt to quiet the pounding, Olrox waited several moments before looking out.

The maiden patted the pegasus and offered it a hand with some sort of grain in it. The pegasus, with its attention diverted, eagerly bent its neck and began to lip the food into its mouth. It soon quickly finished the snack and butted its head against the woman's arm for more. The blue clothed maiden giggled and reached for the bag that handlers usually strap onto the snouts of equines. The name of that specific item eluded Olrox as he watched the maiden.

She was beautiful. Olrox had to admit that. But who was she? Gavin hadn't told him if Mark had taken on a maid to handle what work Gavin didn't know of. Perhaps it was a relative of Mark's that had recently arrived? Or was she one of the local girls that liked to see the menagerie that the Master Tactician had accumulated from his travels?

Closing his eyes in a moment of concentration, Olrox began scanning his vast mind for the possible identities of this pretty maiden.

"The daughter of the local magistrate?" he wondered in a whisper. "Or perhaps the niece of the captain of the city guard? Perhaps the daughter of the ambassador of Lycia? Hm..."

Opening his eyes once more, he was greeted with the sight of the maiden walking towards the estate. She gave a farewell wave to the pegasus, which it ignored since it was concentrating on cleaning out the food that was in the snout shaped bag. The maiden then pushed against the door on the stable and entered it. Olrox heard the squeak of a door being opened and the gentle quiet thump of a door being shut.

Letting out the breathe that he had unconsciously held, the Runeseeker suddenly felt the answer strike the appalling excuse he calls his brain. This maiden, this image of appealing beauty, could be none other than Fiora Icewind of Ilia. The other inactive vessel of the Demon Brothers!

"Sedatives?!" Olrox whispered furiously to himself. "That fool slipped up again! How many times must I tell him to add the drug after pouring the wine, not before adding the wine! The sticky liquid will stick to the inside of the wine chalice!"

Hastily, Olrox grabbed his robes and began to run for the side gate that was on the left side of the Sunfire estate, the western one if the sun was not telling lies. Cursing at the trail his boots left, Olrox opened the iron gate. It swung inwards towards him, squeaking softly as it did. But to Olrox's ears, the noise generated could've awakened the dead in the battle plains of Bern.

"He failed..." Olrox muttered to himself as he stuck close to the shadows. "The Pope and Council of Cardinals will be very displeased. That was our chance of capturing her and forcing the demon to show itself. That foolish Gavin... drugging himself... what an inept fool..."

Unfortunately, Olrox didn't know that the demon that once inhabited Fiora had already been forced out and was hiding somewhere in the countryside. Slipping through the small gap and between the iron gate and stone columns, the spy locked up after himself. The Runeseeker stuck to the shadows and made his way back towards the church where his superior, Pope Baldwin, would be waiting.

* * *

Fiora grasped the railing on the winding stairs that was seemed to contort endlessly through time and space. The blackened iron was cold, something that the Ilian had thought she would be acquainted and at least used to. Each time she touched the cold steel, flashing images of bygone battles kept flashing before her. Had there been moisture on the metalwork, Fiora would have mistaken it for the stain of blood upon a once clean spearhead.

Two years ago, an entire wing under her command fell to a storm of rising arrows over Valor. She gave an involuntary shudder in the darkness and wished for at least some light in this hidden staircase that led directly from the closet in her room to the camouflaged door of stone that were in the stables. A sudden pang rented through her soul and she stopped, her hand resting lightly on the handle to her room.

Her heart jumped slightly as another pang sounded through her body. This was madness, Fiora admits. Her and her family having housed one of the Demon Brothers was something she had never expected. After experiencing that nightmare and seeing it come to reality...

Closing her eyes and clearing her thoughts, the aqua-eyed maiden gently turned the doorknob and entered the back of the wardrobe. Surrounded by clothing that Mark probably inherited from the women of his family, Fiora ignored the rustle of dresses and robes to shut the hidden door behind her. Such secret passageways were more commonly found in castles and forts but since the Sunfire clan was noted for their distrust in others, it would be a good idea to assume that Mark too had inherited that natural mistrust of others.

Satisfied that the door was hidden, the knight of Ilia pushed the oaken door of the wardrobe and returned to her room. So far, nothing worse than being lost in the dark stairwell had happened. Except for that horrifying moment where she confronted the Demon Brothers...

Going over to the bed, she turned around and fell backwards onto the soft down feather mattress. These riches... a girl from the mountains like her could get used to this wonderful stuff. She turned her head towards the windows, where the dawn's early light was barely streaming over the hills that surrounded the city of Rithen. Looking at the rising sun, Fiora absentmindedly brushed the blankets with her hand, enjoying the softness of this expensive piece of art.

"So... you like this room?" a voice spoke in a dark tone. Lurching upwards, Fiora searched furtively with her eyes for the speaker.

There was no one.

"H-hello?" the Pegasus Knight asked tentatively. She got up from the bed and smoothed the wrinkles from her Ilian attire. She first walked towards the door and peered outside. No one was out there. Closing the door and looking out of the balcony, she scanned the skies for a possible sign of someone, a mage or a mounted winged warrior, could've been there. Nothing was there. Fiora went back into her room and closed her eyes.

"Did someone speak?" she asked in a gently pleading tone. The silence of the room answered her.

"Hia-hia-hia..."

Fiora turned around quickly, causing her long hair to fall in a cascade of aquamarine tassels.

"Who..." Fiora cleared her throat of the fright that was rising within her. "Who goes there!"

Another rustling noise that sounded like robes moving quickly across a short distance came from behind her. The knight of Ilia whirled to face whatever was there. There was still nothing but emptiness.

"Who goes there!" Fiora demanded once more with fear hidden in her voice. "I demand to know who is doing this!" A low voice then whispered in her ear, causing cold sweat and a shiver run down her spine.

"I believe you might know who I am, Ilian Knight."

Before Fiora could even move a muscle to turn around to face her attacker, a hand quickly touched the back of her neck. A burning pain that was akin to the hottest flame and the coldest frost caused her to cry out. As quick as the pain had come, she soon collapsed on the floor, swimming in and out of conscious. At times, she felt a pair of hands roughly holding her and carrying her. She felt so much like a helpless lamb taken from its flock to the slaughterhouse.

"Hehehehe... can't get any easier..."

* * *

Groggy and somewhat disoriented, Fiora came to with a pounding pain in the lower back of her head and neck. She looked around, squinting through the tears that were flowing from that dull thud of blood that was resonating throughout her entire mind. She was now bound to a velvet cushioned chair in a room she didn't recognize. She had toured the upper quarters of Mark's estate but this was possibly one of the rooms she couldn't gain access to. Now she knew why it was probably sealed away from most visitors.

This room was darkened and dim, giving it the atmosphere of despair. In the rafters were perhaps hundreds of ancient webs spun by long dead spiders. Fiora shivered as a breeze came through the sealed room by way of possibly unrepaired places. But what scared her most was that there seemed to be something... unnatural and inhuman in the same room. Then, a low voice spoke.

"I see you've awaken, Ilian Knight."

Fiora's eyes widened as she recognized the lecherous tone of the voice's owner. As she opened her mouth to scream, some strange Elder magic in the form of a dark violet blood color shot out of the gloom that surrounded her. The thing of dark magic wrapped around her mouth and nose, threatening to suffocate her.

"Oops, my mistake."

As she struggled to breathe, Fiora heard the sound of snapping of fingers. The sound resonated through the room as the strange matter of darkness fell away from her mouth and began to disappear into vapors.

"Well, I don't suppose you know who I am, do you, Ilian Knight?"

"You... you're Horror!"

"Hehe..." the footsteps came closer towards her, still hidden in the shadows. "You sound surprised. I thought we were rather well acquainted." A low chuckle came from that unknown place. "Or should I say, this body is rather acquainted to you."

As Horror stepped forward into the dim lighting that surrounded Fiora like a protective shield of light, the knight of Ilia could not help but feel sick. Horror's body was none other than...

"Mark..." Fiora whispered softly.

"Hehe... correction," Horror's voice said through the Tactician's mouth. "This is Mark's body but now it is under my control!"

"... what do you want..." Fiora said quietly with her head bowed. Horror gave a laugh before waving his hand. A chair appeared from the dismal gloom that surrounded them and stopped at the edge of the light ring.

"Don't you see?" Horror said as he sat in the conjured chair. "I'm here to... coerce you into something that my brother and I desire."

Fiora remained silent.

"I know what you're thinking of, Ilian Knight," Horror continued as his red eyes cast hungrily over Fiora's body. "You believe that I want to taste carnal lust once more. But that is where you are wrong. This time, we both want a body to inhabit. However, it is hard to find a worthy body to inhabit. The bloods of your families were strong to imprison us but the days of your clans are now over!" He clapped his hands together to emphasize his point, creating a burst of noise and wind that swept around them like a howling storm.

"We both desire a body, a child's body! We demand that the child you bear with both yours and Mark's blood to be ours!"

"... and if I refuse?"

"You have no choice, Ilian Knight," Horror snarled as he lurched forward in his seat. "Our magic is stronger than those of the Church of Saint Elimine! With our magic, we will force you into complying with our demands. We can force you to have intercourse with the body of your beloved!"

"... then why don't you do so?"

"Hia-hia-hia!" Horror fell back in his chair and let his harsh cackles fill the room. "Don't you see, Ilian Knight? We would much rather have our fun watching you actively participate in such a dreadful thing! If we force you to do what we want without you consciously aware, then what's the fun in that? No, we'd much rather have you have intercourse with a heavy weight on your mind to torment you for the rest of your life!"

Without warning, the red eyes of Horror disappeared and the brown hues of the real Mark Sunfire reappeared.

"Don't give in, Fiora!" Mark said with some pain in normally calm voice. "They want a child in order to bring forth the Fallen One!"

Before Fiora could react to this sudden change, the red eyes of Horror regained control over the body of Mark.

"Shut up, you lousy human!" Horror snarled. "This body is now mine, you mortal loser! The resurrection of my lord is far more important than these trivial affairs of you humans!" Gripping his head, Mark quickly reassumed control of his body.

"Get out of my head!" Mark yelled as the whites of his eyes showed. "You will never conquer the world, even if your master helps you!"

Mark gave another shout and two different colored vapors seemed to appear around Mark's mind, like the faint sight of a black flame against a white flame. On the Tactician's face, his right eye was still red, blazing with the fire of Horror. Mark's left eye continued to change between red and brown.

"My master deserves much more than banishment from the Realm of the Living! My brother and I will bring him back to the glory of the past! The world will be ours to control!"

"Not if you don't have a body!"

Mark's left arm quickly drew his saber but began moved stiffly as he struggled to turn the saber onto his own self, to pierce through his own chest. But Horror quickly reassumed control. Casting the saber aside, Mark's chest rose heavily as the two colored vapors clashed. A burst of light later, the black flame cloud remained strong while the white cloud started to fade. Mark's hand made some sign of magic and a blue ring appeared over his body. The ring descended, creating a beam of darkness. This beam crossed through the Tactician's body, eliciting a scream from one voice and a howl of delight from another.

"I banish you to the Realm of the Lost, Mark Sunfire! Wander about in the Space between the fabrics of Time for eternity!"

The wind howled and the cry of a man lost in some strange world echoed throughout the house. Fiora felt paralyzed by what had just transpired. Mark's chest rose up and down, panting strongly as if he had done something strenuous. An unusually pale and sweaty hand laid itself over Mark's chest and a strange dark fire surrounded the hand. Soon, the labored breathing disappeared and Horror's eyes renewed itself with brighter fire.

"Lousy body..." Horror's voice mumbled. "Not compatible for magic... not even capable of the basic Elder Arts... I'll be glad to be disposed of this body soon..."

"What happened to the Mark I once knew?" Fiora shouted as she struggled against her bonds. "What did you do to him?"

The ropes that bound her tightly didn't budge. Sitting down in his great chair, Mark laughed while toying with his saber in his hands. The black flame cloud continued to grow about him, swelling with each passing moment. In the center of the cloud formation, a steady pulsing beat like that of a heart could be seen and heard. In the shape of a pulsating oblong diamond of darkness, Fiora was sure that it was the soul of Horror that was taking up residence within Mark's empty body.

"Hia-hia-hia... the Mark you once knew is lost," that dark voice said. "Like I said before, Ilian Knight, this body is now in my sole possession." Mark rose up from his seat and walked closer to Fiora.

"Now, either you give in to our demands or I shall have no choice but to slowly have my way with your body," Horror said as he leaned closer to Fiora's face. "Comply or suffer."

Fiora turned her face away from Mark's possessed body. That lecherous grin on Mark's face grew as Horror noticed that the straps of Fiora's dress were almost off of her shoulders. Flicking with his saber, the straps snapped as the blade grazed her flesh. With those hindrances gone, Horror summoned an orb of dark flame in Mark's right hand. Tossing the flame lazily, the possessed body of the Tactician moved closer to Fiora. Terror-stricken, the Pegasus Knight could do nothing more than watch fearfully as the red eyes of Horror looked hungrily over her.

"Now, is your mind made up yet, Ilian Knight?"

* * *

"Yes, honorable councilmen," Renault said as he stood in the petitioner's box before the raised table in the church court. "I have reasonable evidence to believe that the presence of the demon brothers, Horror and Fear, have appeared not once, but twice. As of the recent magical activities that our magic detectors found, which consisted of mainly an obscure and difficult branch of Elder Magic.

"Therefore, honorable councilmen, I request for permission to have ten Monks under my command to take control of this situation. Once I have captured and eliminated the two threats, our duty as the Runeseekers will be complete and peace will be assured for the next millenia."

None of the council members stirred throughout the entire oration. Each of the Cardinals were focused on their leader, the Pope, who sat at the center of the table on the highest seat where the light of prominence was shining. The unmistakable scowl on Pope Baldwin's face did not bode well for Renault's request.

"Thank you, Bishop Renault," one of the twelve councilmen said in a bass voice as he stood up. "We will consider and think over your request. We, too, request that you bring forth the one who has gathered this evidence so that we may question the legitimate means he had acquire this information."

"I will send for Olrox, my assistant, Cardinal Winston," Renault replied as he bowed respectfully to his superior. Cardinal Winston hesitated for a moment, looked to the Pope, and bowed back to Renault as if unsure if this act of returning a sign of respect was right.

Turning around to face the few witnesses in the courtroom, Renault pointed to Olrox, who was sitting in the back rows, and gestured for the Monk to come forth. Moving nervously, Olrox hurried to the front, letting the pitter-patter of his leather boots sound as he went down the aisle. Arriving at the raised platform that made the petitioner's box, Renault descended from it and gestured with a hand for Olrox to stand on it. The Runeseeker hesitated for a moment, closed his eyes and slowly climbed onto the platform.

"Olrox of the city of Rithen," Cardinal Winston said as he stood up from the far-left end of the raised council table holding a sheet of parchment. "Do you hereby swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, by the power of Saint Elimine?"

"I-I... I do," Olrox nervously said as he licked his dry lips.

"Hm? Can you repeat yourself, Olrox?" a more wizened member of the council said. The ancient Cardinal leaned closer towards Olrox, cupping one pruny hand over his hairy ear to hear better. The spectacles on the tip of nose dangled precariously between staying on his face or to fall off onto the table.

"I-I... I do!" Olrox said once more, a little more loudly for the elder's sake. "I do swear to uphold the truth!" Satisfied, the elder council member leaned back in his seat and smiled benignly at no one in particular.

"Olrox of Rithen," Cardinal Winston continued as if the interruption was per standard. "You have brought information concerning the existence of the demon brothers, Fear and Horror. Correct?"

"Yes, honorable Cardinal."

"And that this information is completely to the truth?"

"Yes, milord."

"And that you found these independently without your master's assistance?"

"Yes, milord."

"Very well. Explain to us how you came across the existence of the demons brothers."

Clearing his throat, Olrox nervously licked his lips once more before launching into his oration.

"I was given orders six days ago, honorable council," Olrox said as he gripped the burnished wood on the platform. "To seek alongside my master and sponsor the whereabouts of the demons Horror and Fear. We spent two days searching and combing through the local Libraries of Knowledge. One the eve of the second day, we came across an ancient text full of demons and other fell creatures.

"In the text, it mentioned at least twice of the demon brothers and what would happen if they should inhabit the same vessel. The text also mentions of the signs of possession, ranging from the vessel's lack of memory to a pale look that is usually acknowledged in colds and fevers but a profuse amount of sweat that accompanies the symptoms.

"We also learned from the text that the new vessel would inherit strange and dangerous powers from the demon brothers. Once the vessel is completely under their control, both of the souls of the demons will assimilate themselves to fit the surrounding environment of the vessel, giving the possessed at least a facade of normality. It was mentioned that both brothers had once inhabited the body of an infant and managed to get by as a parasite. Fortunately, the child died of an incurable disease during the winter of 446 and the demon brothers were forced to abandon the dead child.

"Before the brothers could inhabit another living body, a passing group of wandering Monks and Bishops came across the village where the possessed infant lived. As they cured the various diseases that happened upon the village that year, they came across the wandering souls of Horror and Fear. The Bishops held a meeting and agreed that sealing the two demons would be the best plan of action since they didn't have the resources and manpower to annihilate these souls from existence.

"They managed to capture the two souls and banished them to another realm, the Realm of the Lost. There, they were to spend eternity wandering the foggy plane until the Bishops that sealed them in found a way to permanently destroy them. Unfortunately, all of the Bishops were called to settle a dispute between the Djutes and Kutolah tribes in the Sacae. In the skirmish that followed after the failed negotiations, all but one of the Bishops died. The surviving Bishop returned to where they had left their Monks. Entrusting only in his assistant, the last Bishop told the secret of reopening the fabric of time and space if he should happen to acquire the power to destroy their souls.

"The Monk, whose name has been banished from all Church texts, was foolish and released the demon brothers, perhaps in an demented attempt to show what power he had. In the ensuing chaos that lasted for the next twenty years, numerous notable and powerful families were divided and destroyed. At least half an entire generation of young people was lost in wars that Horror and Fear stirred up through their ability to possess rulers into brash and foolish actions.

"It wasn't until the dawn of the twenty first year since their release did two brave souls volunteer themselves in order to seal away the souls of Horror and Fear. It was the two ancestors of the clans of the Sunfires and the Icewinds that managed this. A lad from the Sunfires volunteered while a lady from the Icewinds volunteered. But very strong spells of virtue were cast upon them to ensure that both demons would not leave their human prisons prematurely. Six months after volunteering themselves to the cause, both demons were sealed away in their vessels so that one day a representative of the Church would be able to release and destroy the demons.

"The rest is history, honorable Cardinals," Olrox said as he released his tight grip on the wooden railing. "It has been exactly six hundred and twelve years since the demon brothers last trampled the world as we then knew it under their claws. I beg of you, honorable Cardinals, to not make the mistake that our ancestors did! We now have the exact spells of virtue to extinguish the two souls that has kept our Order in disarray! What would Saint Elimine say?"

The council remained silent, none of them having moved during Olrox's entire oration. Quivering slightly, the Runeseeker descended from the petitioner's box and proceeded to the back of the court. As he neared Renault, the Bishop gave a pat on his assistant's back as Renault leaned and whispered into his ear. Olrox seemed to lighten as if a heavy load was knocked away from him. The Runeseeker moved further back and settled in his seat with a small smile. Each of the Cardinals looked at each other and several spoke in low tones to each other.

"Manipulative..." one said.

"Possible tampering..." another said.

"Might be the truth..."

"But it might be a white lie..."

The whispering ceased when Pope Baldwin stood up and looked downwards towards Bishop Renault, who had returned to the petitioner's box. Sweat rolled down the Pope's brow as the rest of the council looked onto their leader. In each of the Cardinal's hearts, they secretly hoped that Pope Baldwin would deny Renault's request, even if his argument were flawless and perfect. Even the benign elder Cardinal felt this way, which would surprise Renault. Wiping away the bead of sweat on his forehead, Pope Baldwin cleared his throat.

"Bishop Renault, member of the Elite Order of Runeseekers," the Pope said in a tone that gave no room for none other than serious business. "Because of the vital information you gave us, we will grant you your request."

At this, most of the council members burst into angry and mutinous murmurs, each throwing keen edged daggers with their eyes at both Renault and Baldwin. Renault smiled and began to bow to the Pope. But Pope Baldwin cleared his throat once more and continued through the small mutiny in the court.

"However," the Pope said as he glared at the rebellious council. "We must assign less acolytes of Elimine to your mission. Instead of your requested ten, there will be only five Monks under your command. There will also be at least one of the members of the Council of Cardinals present to maintain and ensure that you are indeed doing what you requested. Should you be found guilty of any other works that is declared unnecessary under the Charter of the Runeseeker Order, you will be removed from your assignment, stripped of your rank and exiled from Etruria."

Sitting down in his chair, the mutinous murmurs that had came from his Cardinals quickly changed to approval. People are fickle. Baldwin had to admit. But such a tactic was one that he had used often in order to keep himself in power. Renault was a rising star and a threat to his seat of power. If he lost to the young upstart, the shift of power from the older generation to the rising generation would destroy what sense of accomplishment and order he had forged in the last fifteen years of his papacy.

Closing his eyes and ignoring the angry look of his political rival, the Pope gestured for the court to be dismissed. The few witnesses left along with a somewhat frightened Olrox through the great oaken doors. Most of the council members left, whispering amongst each other in approval at Pope Baldwin's choice of action. Soon, only Cardinals Winston, the hard of hearing elder, Pope Baldwin and a simmering Bishop Renault remained in the court.

The Pope and Cardinals stayed in their seats, none having moved since Pope Baldwin dismissed the court. Cardinal Winston was writing down much of what had happened in the court, since he was the council scribe. The elder Cardinal, being very much in his winter years, was nodding off in his chair. Pope Baldwin had sat down but was still watching warily at Bishop Renault. The petitioner's hands clenched and unclenched. Moving out of the box, the swishing of Renault's robes was audible and angry as he stormed closer towards the council table.

"Master Pope!" Renault furiously demanded, startling the elder Cardinal back to wakefulness. "I demand an explanation for your actions!" Without even giving the older follower of Elimine a chance to reply, Renault launched into his speech.

"How dare you strike down a reasonable plan of mine? Since when have I created a mission goal, which isn't doomed to failure? How is it possible that I, Renault of Elibe, will fail in this undertaking?" Pointing an angry finger at the Pope, Renault continued to denounce him.

"You old wrinkled bastard! You false believe of Elimine! You senile fool!"

"SILENCE!"

The piercing brassy bass demand rang throughout the entire courtroom. Bishop Renault's finger wavered for a moment as he stared at Cardinal Winston, who had risen from his seat with a burning glare in his green eyes. The Cardinal-scribe was pointing a threatening quill at Renault and the entire sheaf of parchment was soaked in the contents of an upturned inkwell. Ink also began to spill off of the high table, soaking into the ancient woodwork that other Council of Cardinals has met upon to discuss their business. The dark stain of the black ink marred the smooth and burnished oaken surface. With a snort, the elder Cardinal woke and moaned at the spreading dark stain in the golden oak surface of the council table.

"No! Not the table of the Elders! Winston! What do you have to say for yourself! By Elimine! Know you not how precious this workmanship is? We have rumors that Elimine herself possibly fashioned it with her magic!"

Cardinal Winston ignored the elder Cardinal, casting aside the fury of the ancient one with a sweep of his right arm, the arm with the feathered quill. The elder Cardinal quieted himself and walked off of the raised platform in a slouch, mumbling to himself about the younger generation being too much carefree and disrespectful for ancient works of art that could have been forged by the legendary Saint Elimine herself. Walking through the wooden doors in the back of the court, the elder Cardinal shot a venomous look at Winston. Cardinal Winston ignored this stare and resumed his defense of the Pope.

"You shall not, and will not, speak to the Pope like that in my presence!" Cardinal Winston shouted, as his ears burned red with fury. "Such an attitude on your behalf will incriminate yourself in the eyes of both the members of the Church and Saint Elimine herself! Is this the pledge of loyalty to the Church you swore many years ago, Renault?"

Renault stood there in silence. His hand fell back to his side, as if wearied by the sudden and hasty action he had just taken. The Bishop of Elimine was surprised. He had expected Pope Baldwin to retort or perhaps the ancient Cardinal elder to retort. But never had he thought his political rival, Cardinal Winston, would dare to rise in the Pope's defense.

_Well... it goes to show that even the Pope has favorites... Looks like I've got a duel in the future... Better yet, assassination might be the answer..._

"Forgive me, Master Winston," Renault replied under a façade of regret, one that he had learned to master with ease over the many years. "I... I lost control of myself. I have been too deeply immersed in the research and hunt of the demon brothers. It is my regret to have... profaned the holy Pope for his... wise decisions. I humbly beg for forgiveness."

Cardinal Winston glanced sideways at Pope Baldwin. With a subtle gesturing of his right hand, the Pope stood up with a sigh and glared down severely at Renault. The Bishop bowed his head, supposedly in supplication. But beneath his outward portrayal of regret, Renault was simmering with anger fit to boil over.

"Bishop Renault, member of the Order of the Runeseekers," Baldwin intoned slowly but clearly, allowing his mellow voice to ring throughout the courtroom. "I was going to inform you that it is my wish, and the council's wish, to demote you back to Priest. We considered sending you back to Valor, where most of your works were noted. But as this threat is rising in the horizon, looming at us with its gaping dark maw, I have elected to change that decision. In order for the prophecy to succeed, I must have the cooperation of both the elder and the younger generations that form this church.

"Therefore, I must request you to cease all hostile political actions within the Church. We must bond together in this dire time. Together, we would be able and capable of sending this danger back where it came from. Divided, I fear that not only would the Church cease to exist, but also mankind in general will be affected. We have reports pouring in from all over Elibe of monster sightings, which we have deduced as being affected by how the hour of the demons draw near.

"Shadow Mages have been sighted Etruria, Undead Legions sprouting in the battle plains of Lycia, Sandworms reemerging from their millennia slumber the Nabata Desert. In the Western Isles, civilians, the military and the normal pirates that inhabit the isles have sighted the mythical Ghost Pirate fleets. Reports of male winged human-like monsters have been sighted in the mountains of Ilia. As these monsters have preyed upon nothing else but the beds of women, we have deduced these beings as Incubi, male demons that have an eternal curse of lust.

"You know of your mission as a Runeseeker of the Church, Renault. It is best if you forget your personal political agenda in favor of a more suitable defender of the Church and Elibe. Legends tell of Saint Elimine ascending into Heaven because she created the Runeseekers in order to take her place as defenders of Elibe and wielders of the Light. Bishop Renault, it would be wise for you to abandon your endeavors of personal gain in favor of defending the people of Elibe."

Sitting back down with a slight groan, Pope Baldwin pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty and beaded brow. Further down the table, Cardinal Winston also sat, but slowly. The scribe glared warily at Renault, as if sure that the Bishop before him would not consider the wisdom of the Pope's words. Renault, having listened carefully for a hidden meaning, couldn't find anything else but the purity and the desire of the Pope to keep the world from a shroud of darkness, had no other choice but to back down. Slowly turning around, Renault raised his head and walked towards the exit, slowly but with a dignified air to show that he, the Bishop Renault, would comply with the Church's orders for now.

"I do believe my words have affected him," Pope Baldwin whispered to the Cardinal-scribe as Renault retreated slowly. "It is a wonder how my simple language can persuade such a young and powerful Bishop to my side. I do believe he can suppress this rising danger. What say you, young Winston?"

Winston paused and bit his lip as he tried to reclaim what he had written down on the sheaves of parchment. Giving up the physical effort, he rolled up the sleeves of his robes and cleansed the table of the ink stains with a very weak Lightning spell. A small crash of lights later, the table was sparkling clean but the parchment could not be recovered. Sighing, Winston rolled up the unsalvageable sheaves.

"Your choice was wise, Master Pope," Cardinal Winston replied as the door closed behind Renault. "However, I do believe that Bishop Renault would continue his endeavors to seek greater power within the Church. He can suppress this danger I can assure you. But should he align himself with the same forces the Lady Elimine had once fought against a millennium ago, I fear that the world may fall into decay and disrepair."

"Wise words, young Winston," Pope Baldwin agreed as he nodded his head in approval. "Do you believe that the five acolytes we assigned to him will be fully capable of help destroying the two demons?"

"Master Pope, has Bishop Renault ever failed in an dangerous endeavor?"

"Whatever do you mean, Winston?"

"Master Pope, did you ever notice that in the heat of battle, Bishop Renault seems to be filled with religious fervor or some other itch that the sound of battle brings to those who have an affinity for combat? It is my belief that before Renault joined the Church that he was a sell-sword, a mercenary. Did you notice how he stands? The very same stances he uses in magic are the same used by many mercenary orders. And did you notice his subtle grip on his staff? The same grip as those who wield weapons for many years can show."

"By Elimine! We have a born assassin among us!"

"Indeed, Master Pope. He wishes to overthrow your position as leader of the Church. It is through your leadership that the Church has relaxed many of its ancient beliefs and strengthened those that have proven very useful. Under your direction, I find it more sensible that the Church to continue prosper. I propose that after this debacle is over with that we send Renault back to Valor under the pretense of missionary work. Once there..." Winston did a sudden downward chopping motion onto the table, causing a boom to sound throughout the court. "Our agents can handle him easily. I believe your Hand can say exactly how Renault shall pay for his insolence."

"Ah, my Hand of the Pope... I see..." the Pope said thoughtfully as he watched light stream through the stained-glass windows.

"I see..."


	10. Chapter 10: Broken Will

Chapter 10: Broken Will

* * *

In the high heavens above Elibe, a complex series of edifices constructed of marble covered mountains of cotton-like clouds. This large sprawling series of buildings and walls shone with a magnificence that could only be rivaled by the very sun itself. Human-like figures, some with feathered wings and some with scaly wings, flew from each section of the massive construct built in the style of an ancient civilization similar to those from the time when bronze tools were considered superior. In a garden of the skies, where trees with leaves of youth flourished, three maidens meditated around a well that seemed to have endless depth. Together, they formed a triangle. Behind each of the maidens stood a small grove of trees that reflected each of their respective powers.

These three maidens were an enigma to the rest of the heavenly realm. The first, taller and older than the other two women, had hair whose color rivaled the gold which mankind have coveted since the dawn of civilization. Blue eyes of the shade of the skies, lips that were as soft as the first ripe fruit of the season, a nose that was neither long nor short, and a chin that showed stubbornness and defiance made the rest of her face. Underneath a gold and blue cloak, which hung loosely from one shoulder, she wore pearl white robes that shone with serenity, a faint replica of a Sage's robes. Next to her was an open tome of Anima, its pages opened to a diagram of bolts of lightning striking a demon. However, she was the most serious of the three but manages to hide her own emotions well and cover it with a façade of peace and wellbeing.

The second, younger than the first and older than the second, had dark blue hair that shone with a sheen that only the waters of the seas can replicate. Her eyes were akin to those of a gentle doe, softer and deeper in color. Lips with a hint of peach color graced her mouth, giving her the image of a serene lady who is accustomed to standing aside quietly until needed. Robes of pure white, a tome with images of light banishing darkness, and a staff with a great blue crystal mounted on the top end completed her appearance, denoting her talent and expertise as a Valkyrie. However, the small enigmatic smile that seemed permanently fastened onto her face hinted that she was perhaps the more social maiden of the three.

The third, youngest and quietest of the three, had obsidian hair that could barely be discerned from the matte black robes she chose to wear. Her hood, unlike the other two, remained on her head, shadowing her features. Only her nose and mouth were visible, her lips crimson while her skin seem deathly pale. Her robes were similar to those of Druids, except that she chose to hers with shorter sleeves that ended at her elbow. Her hands were small; miniscule compared to the great pages of the Elder tome. Absentmindedly, she traced the image of a demon being gripped by a shadowy hand.

"The Demons are returning," the oldest maiden spoke softly to her two companions. "Can't you feel them, Lachesis?"

"I know what you mean, sister," the second, Lachesis, replied. "Yet, we can't do anything to stop their resurrection…"

"Don't be too hasty," the third, Atropos, murmured quietly. "Remember what our mortal allies have sworn to do should the Legionnaire return. We may not be able to regain our form in the mortal plane but we can send emissaries in our place."

"That may be so, sister," Lachesis said with a hint of dismay. "But our mortal supporters have long since passed from that place to the Peaceful Realm. I don't think there's any other way apart from summoning a mortal here, Clotho, in order to protect humanity."

"Is that our last option, Atropos?" Clotho asked, a pleading look at her sister. "Please say that we have another option…"

Before Atropos even said it, all three of the sisters knew the answer in their hearts. There was no ensured way of survival, except surrender to the bloodthirsty ravagers of the Daemon Legionnaire. They were the last three members of the Angelic Alliance, a pact that was signed and sealed with a blood oath between the humans and the holy spirits.

Atropos lowered her onyx head and remained silent.

* * *

"Has your mind made up yet, Ilian Knight?" Horror inquired once again in that dark room within the estate of the Sunfire clan. "There is no escape for you, not even if the entire Church decides to come out in full force to attempt to banish me from this dimension."

Horror moved closer to Fiora, who was nude from the waist up. The straps of her dress had been sliced apart earlier by the thin but strong blade of Mark's saber. Feeling the hot breath of a demon possessing a man upon her, Fiora squirmed slightly. Horror, while smiling like a hunter with a prize animal in his sights, placed his hand on the Falcon Knight's right cheek. She shivered at his clammy hand's touch. To Fiora, it was similar to a corpse's touch. Shutting her eyes, Fiora continued to try to block Horror touching her from her senses.

They were still locked in a dark room in the mansion of Mark's ancestral estate. Time was lost to Fiora, as there weren't any windows. She assumed that this room was possibly in the lower levels, perhaps a cellar of sorts where it had remained unused for unknown ages. Cobwebs were abundant in this room and Fiora's aversion to spiders had awoken from its dormancy. Cold sweat drenched her dress, the bottom half to be more accurate, and the dankness of the air was making her feel chilled.

Fiora could easily challenge Horror to single combat to settle this but she was bound tightly to a wooden chair. To top it all, Horror wasn't just possessing some random fellow's body to further his machinations. In fact, Horror is possessing Mark of Etruria, the Tactician who had been a member of a certain cadre of heroes who had averted the world from an early cataclysm.

"Try as you may, Knight of Ilia, but I will succeed in obtaining what my brother and I seek. You know well of the legends that surround our creation, correct?" Horror asked as he slid Mark's hand slowly down Fiora's cheek. The pale and clammy hand halted at her jawbone, tracing the fine edges of her unscathed face.

"Y-y-yes," Fiora whispered weakly, reminiscent of her youngest sister. "There's plenty enough about you two that I don't want to know about." Smiling, Horror continued to slowly move Mark's hand closer and closer to one of the sacred parts of a woman.

"As I was saying, Ilian Knight," the Horror within Mark continued in a supposed silky tone. "My brother and I seek a vessel in which we both can command and occupy without fear from the Church. We have done this before in the long ancient past, albeit for a brief period. We prefer newborn children, who have no set mind pattern, which we must follow. With no set pattern, we can choose a new path of destiny for our vessel." Horror then caressed one of Fiora's breasts, causing the lady to intake a sudden breath.

"Then why?" Fiora said breathlessly. "Why do you hold me here? I have no purpose in your schemes." She gave a quiet squeak as Horror bent Mark's head to suck on one of her nipples. She shivered, her eyes scrunched up to block out the odd sensations her mind perceived.

Horror paused briefly. Tapping his chin for a moment, the demon within smiled and gently stroked several blue strands of hair from Fiora's face. The Falcon Knight cringed from the grazing touch, paling slightly as the demon continued to indulge in stroking Fiora's skin, particularly near her breasts.

"If I were to suggest a deal in exchange for the only treasure you currently possess at the moment for something you would desire, would you do so?" Horror leered as his fingers worked. "Give me your physical virginity and in exchange my brother and I will gladly leave."

"Y-you swear it?" Fiora called out both hesitantly and breathlessly. She shut her eyes as a wave of pleasure struck her body like a stone before continuing weakly. "You swear to bring him back?"

"Him who?" Horror smiled as Fiora gave an audible gasp.

Fiora had never experienced these sensations before in her life. She had heard from her mother once of what naturally happens to growing ladies but most of the hormonal rages during her youth had been mild and never rampant. Always in her mind were the presence of piety and purity. Never had she imagined in the remotest sense of her and a man alone and unattended. That voice of reason within her subconscious has always kept her honor intact, both physically and mentally. But once those hands of the possessed noble and Tactician were roaming across her body, that voice of reason was quickly replaced by one of want and desire.

But now, like a dormant volcano, these feelings were finally awakening. In trying to block out whatever sensation of pleasure from her mind, Fiora had inadvertently rolled her head onto one shoulder. Horror, taking this as a sign that she wanted more, quickly placed his right forefinger and thumb on Fiora's left nipple. Squeezing and rotating the hardened nipple, Horror was pleased to see Fiora arch her back and let out a soft moan. He continued in this vein, finally breaking Fiora's mental resistance against pleasure. She let out a scream; one that was filled with joys and raptures that had never been in her before. Smiling at having succeeded in releasing her from restraint, Horror stopped.

"Yes… just please," Fiora called out in a breathless and ecstatic manner. "More… more!"

With a smile on his face, the hands of the Tactician and the mind of a demon continued its work.


	11. Chapter 11: Angels and Daemons

Chapter 11: Angels and Daemons

* * *

Eternity. The Dark Void. The Great Abyss. The End of Time. These were some of the names Mark had heard of for this strange dimension which he now tumbled through. But he wasn't exactly falling and neither was he stationary. His mind seemed muddled, his green eyes slightly dimmed with confusion. Recovery was slow and the Tactician's daze faded slowly. Movement, or what little he could, seemed as if he was underwater.

He quickly glanced at the never-ending darkness and the Tactician shuddered. The plan to return from the future through Lucius's magic had worked but he himself had failed in reclaiming his body. Through this eternal, never-ending darkness did Mark find a small glimmer of light in the distance far above him. For an unknown reason, the light never moved and never dimmed, even though the Tactician's senses plainly screamed that he was falling. Straining his eyes, the light seemed to expand. Soon, he could see two demonic beings talking to each other within a room that was partly dark and partly lit. Straining his ears, Mark found himself capable of hearing the two demons speak.

_"Yes! I see can she her shadows emerge!"_ Horror said to Fear within the confines of that strange room. _"Can you see it, brother? The desire and want, the need of something to quench that fire within her… This is the beginning of our master's return!"_

_"Yes, brother!"_ Fear replied. _"The brittle walls which are her only defense against desire has crumbled. It will take but a moment for us to properly show this self-suppressing woman how to please herself instead of another. Perhaps reading her memories would be of help in this new era of existence?"_

_"Indeed,"_ Horror agreed with a hint of joy. _"If there is anything from her memories that can enable us to acquire more power for our master's return, we must seize it!"_

_"Indeed, brother,"_ Fear smiled as he clapped his brother on the shoulder. _"The sooner the child is born, the sooner our master will return to this world to once again bring the Daemon Legionnaires back to its mighty existence!"_

_"Indeed, my brother,"_ Horror replied, laying an arm over his own brother's shoulders. Likewise, Fear laid his arm over Horror's shoulders._ "Anything that can be done for our Daemon Legionnaires will be wholly beneficial to our master's Brotherhood of Nod! One vision, one purpose!"_

The two demons cackled harshly and the image began to fade away. In the silence of the void, only the echoes of the demons' laughs resonated within Mark's mind. The Tactician was silent, stunned beyond comprehension. Slowly, he stopped spinning and tumbling, only to land upon firmament that seemed alien.

The son of the Sunfires gazed about, glancing and trying to see through the shrouding darkness. Everywhere was covered by shadows with only a single beam of light that poured its strangely calming essence from the skies above. Looking upwards only to be blinded for a moment, Mark quickly averted his gaze. The light was strong and recovering quickly from his temporary blindness, the Tactician looked down to see the beam of light slowly widening, creating a path for him to follow.

Nothing but the muffled sound of his boots striking the stone floor could be heard in that strange chamber. Mark felt at peace following this strange path that the light above him had created for him to follow. At ease and calm, the Tactician did not realize that the path ended at. Regaining his own consciousness, he began to walk towards a strange stone edifice with statues of creatures in poses of what seems to be peace and sanctity. Slumping on the steps, Mark placed his chin against his chin as he stared at the stone beneath his feet.

"Daemon Legionnaire…" Mark muttered softly, closing both of his eyes. "Where had I heard of it before?"

He sat there on the strange stone edifice's steps, contemplating and striving with his mind to remember. He had heard of the Chaos Legion and of the Scoured Legion, two of the most feared armies that were put down millennia ago by Her Holiness Saint Elimine. But never in his life had he heard of the Daemon Legionnaire. Surely there must be something he had read long ago about the Daemon Legionnaire. Time became nothing as Mark began to lose himself within his own mind, searching through imaginary dusty bookshelves that consisted of his memories. From each shelf he would slowly pull out one book and in the same slow methodical manner open the dusty tome to inspect each page.

The Final Battle of the Scouring… The First Sprouts of the Tree of Peace… The Coronation of Hartmut… The Genealogy of the Six Lands… The Ascension of Saint Elimine…

* * *

Information of the past slowly accumulated in his mind. Time was not a factor. He could tackle this at his own leisurely pace. But he cannot. A lady, his dearly beloved Fiora of Ilia, was suffering out in the painful world of reality. These tomes, these great and venerable dusty tomes, they alone must hold the key of freeing him from this void and destroying these invaders that have taken his body.

In an immeasurable amount of time, a greatly tired Tactician found himself sitting with his back against a shelf. Pausing for a moment to shut the tome, Mark wondered how had he entered the stone building and found the library when earlier he was outside. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, the fire that was burning like a beacon was now reduced to a faint glimmer of an ember. Unable to put the heavy tome back into its place, Mark pushed the closed tome from his lap. It struck the ground, raising a small cloud of dust. With the tome out of the way, Mark closed his eyes and tilted his back against the wooden shelf.

"Why?" Mark whispered to the silence and the darkness. "Why am I sealed away in a realm where only the shadows are my company? Why is Fiora here? By the Relics, why are those demons here? I would at least think that Her Holiness had eradicated their ilk centuries ago… or so I was taught to believe…"

"You presume too much, Tactician of Etruria," a voice said. It was soon followed by a shrill maniacal cackle. Mark's eyes shot wide open and he quickly got up. His right hand reached for the nearest weapon, the tome that he had dropped earlier.

"Who goes there!" Mark demanded as he wielded his tome a little over his right shoulder. "Show yourself!" He heard a snide laugh, but the direction it came from was too general: It seemed to come from behind him. The sound of a robe rustling on stone floor confirmed the direction where it was coming from.

Looking in the direction of the sound, Mark squinted in the dim light. Not too far from him was the form of a human. But this one was abnormally tall in height and had gangly arms and legs. The robes of a Druid seemed to enshroud this being, leaving only an opening for the creature's red eyes to see out of. They were oddly shaped, almost like those of a feral animal's. Suddenly, the tome in Mark's hands didn't seem to be such a good weapon.

"Humans," a muffled but still malevolent laugh came as the soft footsteps of boots sounded closer. "All nerve and foolishness. Never once in their entire history and genealogy have they ever succeeded in riding their world of the Divine Beasts." The newcomer halted briefly and selected a tome from among its comrades on one of the shelves. " 'A Discourse on the Malevolent Spirits'." The shrouded stranger chuckled quietly before replacing the tome. "Interesting title, don't you think?"

"What's interesting is that you know of my rank and my birth nation," Mark said, seething. "Common courtesy, whether you're human or whatever you are, dictates that the host offers the lost stranger his name and hospitality, or whatever little that you can provide." Mark shifted his footing slightly, just in case he might need to fight in a pinch. But instead of being rushed by this stranger, however odd the notion, this oddball gave another of his shrill maniacal cackle.

"Ah, forgive me. I seemed to have lost my manners as you have done so to yours, Mark of House Sunfire," the shrouded stranger took several more steps closer to the Tactician. "My name is Kafka. I am Kafka Pallazo, the resident scholar of this realm. You may call me the Eternal Scholar." The newcomer removed the hood portion of his robes, revealing the rest of his face for viewing. Mark felt the hair on the back of his neck stiffen.

This Kafka Pallazo was no ordinary human. His eyes were shaped like any humans, but the red glare in them seemed to be burning like the eternal holy flame in the Holy Temple of Saint Elimine. His nose was rather long and hooked, making this Kafka Pallazo seem like a raven ready for flight. The lips on this person thin and pale, not unlike those of a corpse's. Looking at one of his hands, which was rubbing his rather bony neck reminded Mark of pale spiders with equally pale appendages. His robes were similar to that of Druids except he eschewed the hood and mask. But his magical aura nearly blinded Mark, Kefka's power over darkness radiating in a swirl of malevolent purple energy storm.

"Afraid are you?" Kafka cackled, both of his pale hands gesturing at the shadows around them. "Hard to believe that I'm not human, eh?" Mark slowly lowered his tome.

"What in the name of the Goddesses are you?" Mark asked in a hushed tone.

"A relic of the ancient wars," Kafka said, inspecting his own spidery hands. "In 'Die Legende des Drachen', we were referred to as 'falscher Menschen', or false humans. Perhaps you have heard of the 'Flight of Az'leih'?"

Mark nodded his head. "The story of how the Dragons fled from a dark and dying world through a series of portals that connected their world with ours, was it not?"

"Very good, for a true human. But no matter, my life story can be told another day. Yours I already know, Marcus Aureolis Sunfire," Kafka cackled briefly. "I am not evil, son of House Sunfire. But I am neither good. You can say that I exist only to be the one who watches all that happens in each individual realm. You may call me 'the Eternal Scholar'."

"You're an agent of the Goddesses?" Mark asked, wary with suspicion. He lowered the improvised weapon of a tome.

"I only observe what I am told to," the other replied. "Nothing more, nothing less. Now, if you would give me back my sole copy of 'The Genealogy of the Holy War', I would be more than helpful to you." Kafka extended a pale, spidery hand palm up to receive the tome.

Mark looked from the cover of the tome, which was decorated, with images of Dragons and Men fighting against a tide of darkness. Reluctantly, the Tactician handed the well-designed tome over to the strange Kafka. The scholar gleefully examined the cover and quickly flipped pages until he was near the end. Mark patiently waited and was on the verge of falling asleep on his feet when Kafka slammed the tome shut.

"Evidently," the scholar said, oblivious to the fact that he kept Mark waiting. "Demons of the same caliber as Horror and Fear can be readily dismissed from one plane to another. Such techniques were used during the Holy War when demons and their servants rampaged on the continent of Yggdrasil. Many demons such as Bhaal the Poisoner and Tybalt the Cursed successfully resisted these attempts," Kafka smiled wanly at Mark, who was eagerly hanging onto every word. "However…"

"However what?" Mark could only watch painfully as Kafka pointed and waggled a finger at him.

"Tsk, tsk," the Eternal Scholar said, smiling as he continued to toy with the Tactician. "I can't just tell whatever it is that you deem worthy of learning, foolish mortal. Only when you realize the folly of your follies can you truly become the Master of your art. In your case, I find it very surprising that even you can lose to a simple demon such as those two that now possess your body." Kafka broke off into mirthless laughter.

Mark could only grit his teeth and curl and uncurl his fists as he watched the Eternal Scholar laugh. What Kafka had said was true. He can't just claim to be a Master Tactician when he has not realized the true scope of what it involves in order to declare yourself a Master. Even though he had studied the entire standard and advanced texts and tomes on the subject of Tactics and Strategy, in his own heart, Mark knew he was far from being a true Master.

"What do you want me to do?" Mark asked in a subdued tone. He lifted both palms into the air, helpless. "I cannot offer you anything beyond my own knowledge of the world of the living, Kafka."

"Excellent," Kafka giggled, clapping his hands together. "It has been nigh a century since I have been allowed by the Goddesses to tour Elibe. We are well overdue for news. Come, you must tell your tales in a place more appropriate." The Eternal Scholar turned around and walked away for a distance. Confused, Mark hesitated. Kafka then turned around and irritably motioned with a hand for the Tactician to follow.

Passing by the endless rows and columns of ancient tomes covered in dust, Kafka led the way out of the vast library. The Eternal Scholar stopped by a massive door, which could fit three full-grown dragons in their prime, widthwise and lengthwise. However, where the door handle would normally be there was a great jewel carved out of jasper. Holding up a hand to tell Mark to stop, Kafka stood before the green jewel. Both of his pale hands resting on it, Kafka proceeded to mumble an incantation in a language that Mark had never heard of before.

However, the Tactician did recognize that the order of the chant was similar to those of magic spells he had heard during his travels. Without warning, the Eternal Scholar flung both arms back, black robes fluttering as a gale blew. Shielding his face with his robe, Mark heard the grind of the massive door slowly opening with sound of metal grinding against stone. As it opened, a pulsing white light blinded the Tactician, causing Mark to cry out in pain as he fell onto his knees as he covered his eyes. Hearing a contemptuous sniff above him, Mark quickly rubbed his eyes to ease the agony before being pulled up by a pair of hands. Opening his eyes, the Tactician only saw light bursts overlapping the unfamiliar faces that were now leading him through the doors.

"Come, mortal," he heard the Eternal Scholar say. "Keeping the entirety of the heavens waiting for you is not a very wise decision. Za'hai, Demir. Help him through."

They stopped by the door, the pair of hands letting go of him. Remaining upright as he opened his eyes, Mark's own jaws fell into oblivion when he saw the true magnitude of the grand chamber, his eyes also wide in awe at the awesome majesty of the massive chamber. Three thrones carved of stone with flecks of jewelry embedded in them were mounted at one end of the chamber with at least twenty steps made of pure white marble surrounding it. A walkway embedded with a mosaic of dragons, humans, and other creatures of supernatural origin covered the entire floor, with only a white marble path that led directly from the main entrance to the front of the encircled throne.

People—no, people of all civilizations past and present—lined along the sides of the grand chamber. Some, carrying staves whose power stones radiated with pure power, wore garbs similar to those of the Etrurian Church. A small white cap that rested snugly on the top of the head, white robes that easily reached the floor and a black collar that had a vertical white strip at the throat. Some, wearing robes of pure white with black trimming and a cloak that shone of silver, did not carry staves but still power spilt from their being. Behind a marble pillar with gold veins woven into the stonework stood several beings wearing gray robes that covered their entire bodies. Some of them looked particularly shifty but upon spotting their faces when they turned towards him, Mark was surprised to see that these masters of the Elder Arts looked no more different than the Bishops and Sages that had mingled freely among all the people of the chamber.

"Come," Kafka called, his voice carrying through the silence of the chamber. "You can amuse yourself in the heavens with other intellects such as myself when your time comes. You mustn't keep Our Ladies waiting."

Mark hesitated for a moment, unsure whether or not this was a dream or true reality. Kafka gave an exasperated sigh and came back to him.

"Need I paint a picture for you to convey my message, mortal?" the Eternal Scholar said in a tired tone. "Go! The ladies before you waits."

Upon the largest throne sat a woman whose appearance seemed both powerful yet gentle. She seemed ageless, as if in permanent youth. Her garments were white robes that seemed to flow and float at the slightest hint of air moving. However, this heavenly maiden had a white veil over her face, concealing her features from all in the chamber. Surrounding her throne were similarly garbed maidens, some carrying strange wooden artifacts in the shape of lanterns in their hands while others wielded staves with a myriad of colored jewels mounted on top.

Letting go of the breath he was inadvertently holding in his awe, Mark found that he was standing directly in front of the three thrones on their shared podium. Looking up at the maiden wearing pearl white robes, the Tactician's own jaw sunk further at the sight of the golden hair, the sky-blue eyes, and the serene appearance and feeling that this woman simply could not hold back.

"Welcome, Marcus Aureolis Sunfire di Nibelungen," the maiden said, beaming at him with a smile of pleasure. "Please, consider this place to be your new abode for the present."

"We know you have questions," a second maiden said gently, picking up where the first had left off. This one was also a stunning beauty, a blue-haired maiden whose beauty also left him breathless. She too was smiling at him. "But in time, those questions will be answered."

Mark could not get a handle on this new sudden torrent of information. The first maiden had called him "Marcus Aureolis Sunfire di Nibelungen". Wasn't "di Nibelungen" the name of some famous warrior of an ancient legend he had read before?

"You are confused, yes?" the third maiden asked plainly. Mark's mind jerked free from the ruts of logic to gaze at the third maiden. She, unlike the previous two, did not bear so much as a faint smile on her face. Hers was hard-set, jaw locked in a seemingly uncomfortable clinch. "Your confusion, understandable or not in this situation, will be cleared up immediately."

Her two companions exchanged looks of shock, amazed how quickly their dark companion had quickly driven to the heart of the issue at hand. The second opened her mouth in protest, but was silenced by the first's upraised palm.

"Don't you think our guest deserves to rest first, Atropos?" Clotho suggested, gesturing at Mark. "The method you chose to bring him here, however quick and efficient it was, has indeed drained much of his strength."

As if by some oddity of his body, Mark did feel a bit drained. Looking sideways at Kafka, Mark glared at the Eternal Scholar as if all of this was his fault. Kafka just shrugged and jerked his head towards the three maidens. As he turned back, Mark saw the dark one named Atropos shake her head at Clotho.

"Having him rest will only delay the inevitable, Clotho. The sooner we tell him everything about the current situation on Elibe, the better off he'll be. Then he won't have to stay here any longer than necessary." The second maiden laid a hand on the headstrong Druid's arm.

"As much as I agree with you, sister," the second said soothingly, patting Atropos's arm. "This time I must disagree. We cannot just merely pull someone from another plane of existence, do our business and then send him or her on back to their world. Such a thing would drastically drain the astral energies of both planes, Atropos. Nor you or I or even Clotho would be able to repair a tear in the fabric of existence without causing severe catastrophes in either plane."

"I know that, Lachesis," Atropos said, biting a lip out of frustration. Her blood-red lips turned even more crimson with the addition of her brighter blood. "But the longer he stays here, the sooner those pair of demonic wretches down on Elibe will cause problems for everyone."

"We'll just let him stay here for a short duration, my dear sister," Lachesis replied, conjuring a white cloth from midair with a twist of a hand. She then pressed it against Atropos's lip. Mark could not help but watch with extreme interest at how quickly Atropos's lip had healed since it had been bled. "A day or so will restore his energies, not to mention give the smiths enough time to craft a proper weapon for him to use against the Daemon Brothers."

"That is sound, Lachesis," Clotho said, leaning forward so that she may look sideways at Atropos. "Besides, wasn't it you that suggest that we equip a di Nibelungen with knowledge on demon slaying along with a proper weapon to carry out said deed?"

Atropos looked from one sister to another for a moment. Sighing, she shook her head before holding up both palms in surrender. Smiling, Clotho looked once more at Mark.

"It has been decided, Marcus Aureolis Sunfire di Nibelungen. Today and tomorrow, you shall remain here with us. It is our most sincere hope and wish that you equip yourself with whatever knowledge you wish against the two Daemon Brothers that have been plaguing your homeland."

She then gestured Kafka over with a twitch of her forefinger. Immediately, the Eternal Scholar sprang forward from his alcove and knelt immediately in front of Clotho with his head bowed respectfully.

"Kafka will show you to your quarters, Marcus di Nibelungen. Please rest and cast aside your worries. On the morrow, I fear you may break once we have broken more news for you. But for now, Kafka will do his duty. Please, follow him."

Rising and giving a salute, Kafka bowed before turning around. Patting Mark on the shoulder several times, the Eternal Scholar led the way out of the throne room. However, Mark remained standing a few moments after Kafka had stepped out of the chamber. Speechless and numbed, Mark could only nod his head several times. Without a word, he turned around to follow Kafka, who was waiting slightly impatiently outside.

Once the Tactician was out of sight and earshot, Atropos sighed and shook her head once more before resting her head against a fist propped on her throne. Lachesis could only smile and pat Atropos once more on her other arm. Clotho rose from her seat and stood before her two siblings.

"As much as I have enjoyed bringing mortals from their realm to ours, I must admit that it's been somewhat tiring and trying as of late, my sisters," Clotho said, barely managing to stifle a yawn. "Yet, I find myself agreeing once more with you, Atropos. Sending him back immediately would be prudent and wise, but doing so readily in such a short span of time would do damage to the fabric of the cosmos, wouldn't you agree?" Atropos waved a hand flippantly.

"We're the three goddesses of magic, sister," Atropos said with an exasperated sigh. "What is there in the entire length and breadth of the cosmos that we can't do?"


End file.
